In the Unlikeliest of Places
by cyanwolfstar
Summary: Severus Snape finds himself taking a much more hands-on role in the raising of his old rival's son than he could ever have imagined. Warning: contains corporal punishment (absolutely not slash)
1. The First Encounter

**Hello! This is set in Harry's first year at Hogwarts. It starts mid-October time. Obviously, it strays a little from canon, but I'm going to try and keep it fairly close. It contains corporal punishment, so if that's not your thing, _please _don't carry on reading!**

**Please do leave a review if you have the time! As always, criticism is welcome. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Harry had never punched anyone before. After 10 years living of with the Dursleys, he'd had more than his fair share of being on the receiving end, but he'd never been the one to deliver the blow, and he'd never thought he would be either. It was brutish and aggressive and cruel; all words that you'd associate with an oaf like Dudley Dursley, who Harry had always imagined was his polar opposite.

It felt good, though. The adrenaline that had coursed through him as his fist made contact with Malfoy's face had made him feel almost giddy. The git had deserved it as well. Malfoy had been pushing and pushing him since he had refused his offer of friendship at the start of the school year, but Harry had managed to keep a lid on it and resist the urge to give the slippery Slytherin exactly what he deserved. Not today, though. The blond boy hadn't just crossed the line, he'd paraded over it and left it behind him in the dust.

A hurt whimper brought him back to reality. Everything was moving in slow motion. Malfoy was cowering on the floor, his nose bloody and a wild look in his eye. A gaggle of onlookers was beginning to gather around the scene, filling the corridor with hushed whispers. Rushed footsteps sounded on the cobbled floor behind Harry, and he was suddenly aware that he was being restrained, held tight by potion-stained hands.

_Potion-stained hands. Oh no._

'Do. Not. Move.' The potions professor enunciated darkly, holding Harry in a vice-like grip against his chest. The order was unnecessary; Harry's anger had run dry and pain was beginning to shoot up his arm in vicious splinters from his damaged knuckles. Taking another swing at Malfoy was the least of his priorities.

'Mr Crabbe, Mr Goyle,' Snape continued, addressing the two bewildered lumps who were hovering uncertainly around their injured housemate. 'See that you escort Mr Malfoy to the hospital wing. Mr Malfoy, enough of the theatrics. Your nose may be broken but your legs are quite definitely not.'

Harry didn't miss Malfoy's blush at his Head of House's harsh words. The blond boy righted himself quickly, dusting himself off and assuming his usual haughty stance.

'See you tomorrow, Potter,' Malfoy said, smirking. 'That is, if you're still here tomorrow. I wouldn't be surprised if they expel you on the spot for being the most pathetic student the school has ever seen.'

'Oh, piss off, Malfoy,' Harry hissed back, tired of the blond's relentless needling. His stomach dropped as the grip on his arm tightened and he was jerked towards Snape. How could he have forgotten that the man was right behind him?

Snape leant down so his head was uncomfortably close to Harry's own, and said in a low, dangerous voice right into his ear, 'This is your first and only warning. I will not tolerate that sort of language. If you so much as whisper another word as vulgar as that, I promise you will _sorely _regret it. Am I understood?'

Harry managed a barely perceptible nod. His stomach was doing aerial acrobatics.

Seemingly satisfied, Snape dispersed the crowd of gawping spectators with a dark look and a dismissive wave and began hauling Harry in the direction of the dungeons.

* * *

Harry was certain that the walk to the dungeons had got longer since the last time he did it, or maybe Snape was just taking him on a different route to prolong his suffering. Whichever it was, Harry had had enough of being dragged through the castle by his sleeve.

'I can walk myself, you know,' he said, finally.

'Oh, really,' Snape mused, his tone acerbic and his pace no slower. 'Apparently you have a perfectly functioning attitude too. It seems you have multiple skills that it would be inadvisable to showcase at this moment.'

Message received. Harry resigned himself to the idea of being yanked through the corridors forever. Maybe he'd become Hogwarts myth, like the sort of stories you get in _Hogwarts, a History_. Maybe not, though. History of Magic was already boring enough, and he didn't want to make it worse for future students by putting 'being hauled down never-ending hallways like an overgrown toddler' on the curriculum.

After what seemed like several eternities, they finally reached the Potions corridor. To Harry's surprise, Snape pulled him right past the door of the Potions classroom. Instead, they entered a room several doors down that looked like it might be Snape's private quarters. Harry was bewildered by how peculiarly homely the small living space looked, but he didn't have very long to mull over it before he was pushed through another door and deposited roughly on a wooden chair.

This room appeared to be Snape's private office. A great mahogany desk lay in the middle of the room, with a cushioned armless chair on one side, and the small wooden one that Harry was now sitting in on the other. Bookshelves overflowing with eclectic tomes and manuscripts lined the room, stretching from floor to ceiling. This was the type of room that bookworms like Granger dreamed about.

Harry jumped a little as Snape shut the door behind them. The man strode over to the desk in front of Harry's seat and leant against it, facing Harry and crossing his arms.

'Explain.'

Harry shrugged and looked at the floor. He wasn't about to tell the meanest man in Hogwarts exactly what had made him punch Malfoy.

Bad move. His shrug seemed to incense Snape.

'You may have been pampered and coddled elsewhere, Potter, but you are in my quarters now and I expect you to at least pretend you have a modicum of manners,' the man snapped, his face set in a displeased frown. 'When I ask you a question you will answer it. Shall we try again? Am I correct in saying that you attacked Mr Malfoy?'

'I hit him, yeah, but-'

'But what, Mr Potter?' Snape interjected. 'How are you going to justify this one? Did he draw his wand on you? Say he was going to hex you, perhaps?'

'No, sir, but-'

'Ah, so he threatened you physically? Squared up to you?'

'No, but-'

'Just as I thought,' Snape said, almost smugly. 'A simple act of wanton violence from a simple boy who's used to doing what he wants with no consequences. Dumbledore's not here to protect you now, Potter. You'll soon find out that even being the Saviour of the Wizarding World doesn't put you above my rules. In no situation is it acceptable to violently attack an innocent person with the singular desire to cause them pain, which you-'

'It wasn't like that!' Harry interrupted, his voice barely below a shout.

'_Excuse me_?' the Potions Master growled, his temper rising. 'How _dare _you interrupt me?'

Harry cursed himself as he felt tears of frustration threatening to spill. He knew he shouldn't have spoken back, but Snape was making him sound like a bully. He was reducing him to something no better than a Dursley.

'I know I shouldn't have hit him,' Harry said emphatically, 'but he- Malfoy, he said some… stuff about my parents.'

Harry blushed at how pathetic he sounded. Lowering his head, he waited for Snape to make some biting comment about how he was too old to be whining to a teacher about someone being mean to him.

'What did he say?'

He looked up, surprised. He hadn't expected the fearsome professor to care at all about what Malfoy, his obvious favourite, had said or done. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, filled with regret at bringing up the subject at all. He couldn't rat Malfoy out! The Slytherin would know that he told on him and then Harry would be in a whole world of pain. Sighing, he fixed his eyes on the floor once again.

It was as if Snape could read his mind.

'I think you'll find that the consequences of not answering my question will far exceed any that Mr Malfoy could even imagine imposing upon you.'

The way the professor lingered on the word 'consequences' made Harry's stomach drop. He decided he'd much rather take his chances with Malfoy.

Harry gulped, trying to speak in a steady voice. 'He just said some stuff about, you know, how my mum and dad were worthless, and lazy too.'

Snape raised an eyebrow.

'And so you assaulted him?'

'Um, no. He said some more stuff, too.' Harry took a breath and glanced up at Snape, who seemed to be waiting for him to continue. 'He said that they deserved what they got and that I was going to grow up to be just as bad as them and… and that they should have done me a favour and taken me with them when they died.'

The last bit was mumbled, his words running into each other and almost dying out as he rushed to finish the end of the sentence. To his horror he felt hot tears prick his eyes once again. He swiped viciously at them, locking his eyes determinedly on the professor's shoes and waiting for the cascade of derision that was sure to come.

Instead, there was nothing. Confused, Harry chanced another glance upwards at the man. Snape was regarding him with a strange look. The displeasure from earlier was still markedly there in his features, but it seemed to have faded slightly. He appeared more pensive, and, to Harry's complete surprise, there was a definite hint of pity in his expression.

'Mr Malfoy does not know what he is talking about,' Snape said, his voice softer than Harry had ever heard it before. 'Your mother… both of your parents, I suppose, were fine aurors and even finer people.'

Harry couldn't help his jaw dropping. He was mystified as to why his hated, spiteful potions professor was sharing this with him, and as to what on Earth an auror was, but that was all overshadowed by the fact that Snape had known his parents. Before he could process it, though, or ask any of the million questions that were taking shape in his mind, the emotion melted off the man's face and the stern Potions Master returned, as if he'd realised that he'd strayed into territory he didn't want to be in.

'You were foolish to believe what Mr Malfoy said,' Snape continued. 'I knew you were not the brightest, Potter, but surely even an absolute dunderhead would not let words so obviously untrue affect him so.'

Harry cringed at the man's scathing tone.

'Mr Malfoy is eleven,' Snape continued. 'Exactly how many eleven-year olds do you think knew your parents, _who died ten years ago_, on a personal level?'

'None,' Harry whispered. The tears were threatening to return again.

'Correct. Quite obviously the boy was trying to get a rise out of you, and quite obviously he succeeded. You must get a better handle on your emotion, Potter, or you will be out of Hogwarts before you can even whine 'Oh but I'm the _Chosen_ One, you can't expel me.'

Snape's tone was horribly mocking. Harry couldn't help but feel that the man was overcompensating for being almost nice the minute before. He did have a reputation as the tyrannical bat of the Hogwarts dungeons to keep up, after all.

The professor strode to the other side of his desk and placed both hands on the back of the chair seated behind it.

'There are teachers at this school who will be more lenient with you because of your celebrity status. Unfortunately for you, I am not one of them.'

He drew out the chair and sat.

'Come to me.'

Harry's eyes widened. He'd only been at Hogwarts a few short weeks, but that was long enough to have heard the rumours about how Snape dealt with misbehaving Slytherins. He had always hoped they were just that; rumours.

'You can't,' he spluttered, frozen to his seat.

Snape arched an eyebrow.

'I'm sorry?'

'I mean, you really can't!' Harry said desperately. 'I'm not in your house.'

'I think you'll find that as a member of staff at Hogwarts I am within my rights to discipline any one student however I may decide, even if that student seems to think they know better. It just so happens that those in my house are the ones on the receiving end of said discipline more often than not,' Snape said. 'Come. Believe me, if I have to come and get you, you will only be making matters much worse for yourself.'

Harry believed him. He steeled himself; he was eleven years old, and a Gryffindor at that! He could take this like a man. Swallowing his pride, he stood. It took a mammoth effort to stop his legs from giving in. As quickly as he could, he crossed the short distance around the desk and stood in front of the man.

Finding himself face to face with those unreadable black eyes for the first time today, Harry was sure he caught a glimpse of approval in them. Not possible; this man held nothing but hatred for him.

'Let us not prolong this further than necessary, Mr Potter,' Snape said. 'As you know, I am greatly displeased with your actions today. You have not only brought dishonour on your own house; you have brought injury upon mine.'

Harry flushed red. He hadn't thought about how what he'd done might reflect on Gryffindor. Professor McGonagall would likely be no happier with him than Snape.

'You acted rashly. It may have been provoked but that by no means justifies it,' Snape continued. 'Whether I like it or not, you have a big role in all of our futures. If you cannot control your emotions in a simple playground spat, I dread to think about what may happen when your actions have greater repercussions. You _will _learn to control yourself or so help us.'

'I am going to afford you the same right that I do my own Slytherins,' the man carried on, 'I do not believe in double jeopardy; once your punishment is over, you will have a clean slate regarding this issue. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said. His stomach was turning over and over with anticipation and he felt a little queasy. He wished Snape would stop talking and just get on with it.

'After I am done with you, you have 24 hours to apologise to Mr Malfoy. I understand that you may not want to do so immediately, but if I am to find that you have not spoken to him by this time tomorrow…'

Snape let the threat hang in the air.

'I understand, sir.'

'Good. Let us get on with it then.'

In one swift motion, Harry was deposited over Snape's lap. Had it been any other situation he would have marvelled at the easy strength that the wiry professor's voluminous robe apparently hid, but he was too busy thinking about the humiliation of his position. He had little time to stew indignantly, however, before the man's hand crashed down on his bottom.

Tears stinging his eyes, he bit back the urge to yelp. Bloody hell, Snape definitely had a weights room tucked away in his quarters somewhere. As the smacks rained down incessantly on his poor behind, Harry determinedly fought the tears. It was bad enough that he was upturned over his professor's lap like some badly-behaved toddler; he would not be reduced to sobs in front of the man.

'Come now, Potter, we both know it hurts, there is no need for this pitiful charade,' Snape said, his voice firm but not as caustic as it was earlier. 'You have my permission to cry.'

As if by magic, the dam burst. His tears spilled over in exhausted sobs. The fire that Snape was lighting in his behind was by no means the worst pain Harry had ever felt, but on top of what had been an emotionally draining evening, it tipped him over the edge. It was the first time he had cried in a very long time.

Snape continued raining down smacks. Harry felt himself being tipped forwards slightly over the man's knees and pain blossomed across his the top of his thighs. He let out a pained yelp and, to his shame, heard himself asking Snape to stop.

To his surprise, the smacks ceased. Two firms hands righted him as he struggled to catch his breath. Snape grasped his shoulders with both hands.

'Look at me, Potter,' he said, shaking Harry a little. 'There may well be times in your future that you need to resort to violence to protect yourself, but they are not in your near future. For now, you will not so much as _think_ about striking another student. Even if they are not in your house. You will need all the allies you can get and letting things as childish as house rivalry come between you is desperately counterproductive. If you do so, you will have me to answer to. Am I clear?'

Harry nodded.

'A verbal response, if you'd be so kind, Mr Potter.' Snape's sarcastic tone had returned.

'Yes, sir,' Harry sniffed. Merlin, he sounded pathetic.

'Good. Hurry back to your dormitory now, then, Potter' the Potions Master said, dismissing him with a wave. 'I'm sure you'll have a gaggle of redheads waiting to check that I've not hung, drawn and quartered you.'

* * *

Snape's prediction was right. Harry had crept back into the Gryffindor common room, hoping to pass unnoticed by the few students still milling around, but he'd found a Weasley welcoming party composed of Ron and the twins waiting for him.

Ron took one look at him and breathed a sigh of disbelief, 'He really did it, didn't he, mate? Snape walloped you?'

Harry went beet red.

'How did you-?

'Know?' George finished for him. 'Blotchy eyes?'

'Ruddy cheeks?' Fred continued.

'Hovering tentatively around the sofa?'

The twins grinned at each other.

'Ickle Harrykins has had a whacking.' They finished simultaneously.

Harry hadn't thought it possible that he could go redder, but he felt his cheeks flaming. What would Ron's brothers think of him, crying about a few stupid smacks?

'Don't worry, Harry,' Ron laughed, patting his best mate's shoulder. 'Fred and George weren't so brave when Mum got hold of them after they bewitched our chickens to sing opera at five in the morning. You should have seen their faces when she brought out the wooden spoon.'

'Oi!' The twins exclaimed together. George threw a pillow at Ron's head, who in turn chucked a whole red and gold shrug back at him. It soon devolved into an all-out every-man-for-himself pillow fight, and Harry had almost completely forgotten about the lingering sting in his bum.

* * *

Severus climbed the stairs of the Gargoyle corridor up to the Headmaster's office. He had known the instant that he had laid hands on Potter that Dumbledore would have something to say about it, and surely enough the summons had come just after he had dismissed the child from his quarters.

He knew the Headmaster would have a word or two to say about harming his Golden Boy, but if he was honest with himself, he didn't regret one bit of what had occurred. Ever since James Potter's son strutted through the doors of the Great Hall at the start of term, Severus had been waiting for a chance to exact his revenge on the bastard's spoiled son.

It hadn't gone quite as he had thought it would, though. Yes, at the start, the impudent child had lived up to his reputation, displaying easy insolence and protesting at every turn. The boy clearly had a strong moral sense though, however much Severus was loath to admit it. He had admitted his wrongdoing and accepted his punishment with relative stoicism. Severus had struggled to not be impressed at how the boy had walked autonomously to him to receive it with the composure of someone twice his age. He couldn't help but compare it to the first time he had punished Draco in such a way; his godson had kicked and screamed and scratched at him like a feral cat.

Perhaps the Potter boy had more of his mother than him than he had at first thought…

_Perish the thought! _Severus admonished himself, knocking on the heavy oak door of the Headmaster's study.

'Enter,' came the warm reply.

'Ah, Severus,' Dumbledore said, a smile crinkling the corner of his eyes. 'Care for a sherbet lemon?'

'No, thank you.'

'Very well,' the older man replied, unwrapping one for himself and popping it in his mouth. 'I think you know what I have asked you here to talk about?'

'Potter, I assume.'

'Harry, yes,' Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

'I know what you're going to say, Albus, and I must warn you that this is the one topic we will disagree on,' Severus said, pre-emptively. The old headmaster had a habit of talking around the subject, but today he wanted to cut right to the chase. 'I harbour no regret about the way I dealt with Potter and would do so again in a heartbeat if I deemed it necessary. The boy needs to know that he cannot break rules that hold fast for those around him and get away with it.'

'Quite on the contrary, Severus,' Dumbledore said, 'I agree with you. Harry has had very little permanence in his life. It may do him some good to come up against an immovable force such as yourself to provide him with some constancy.'

Severus shot the old man a searching look, trying to discern whether or not he had finally lost it.

'If you are trying to suggest that I should take up a 'permanent' role in Potter's life, I fear that you are quite mad.'

Dumbledore chuckled.

'Now, Severus, be reasonable,' he smiled. 'Perhaps you need the boy just as much as he needs you.'

'_Needs _me? Have you seen the brat, running rampant with his little friends? He needs nothing but a large helping of discipline,' Severus said, his temper flaring. 'And me? I need no one, old man.'

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with something indiscernible that bridged the gap between amusement and displeasure.

'It would do you well to remember who you are talking to, Severus,' the man intoned. 'I am not going to force Harry upon you, but I would like you to consider it.'

'There is nothing to consider,' Severus replied bluntly. 'Perhaps it would do you well to remember who we are talking about – James Potter's spawn. You know precisely what that means to me.'

'Oh, Severus, I know exactly who we are talking about,' Dumbledore said, the infuriating smile back on his face. 'Lily's boy.'

That was the last straw. Severus would not let himself be manipulated by this loopy old man with his sickeningly saccharin view of the world. Not giving the Headmaster so much as a cursory glance in farewell, Severus stormed out of the office.

* * *

**That's the end of the first chapter! This is _not _a one shot, I have plans to make it quite lengthy and I'm very excited! I'm just about to enter a long period of stressful exams at school, so there may be a few months without update but if you can hang on that long then I can promise I'll be back!**

**Thanks for reading and have a good day!**


	2. Quidditch Through the Ages

**Here's chapter 2 :) I hope you enjoy it. If you have the time, please do leave a review! As always, criticism is welcome.**

* * *

Harry gave up. For what felt like hours, he'd been flicking through the copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, his fingers mindlessly turning page after page. He was beyond worried at the prospect of his first Quidditch match the following morning and he'd picked the book up from the library to try and cram in some last-minute strategy, but it was hopeless. His mind kept wandering and none of what he read was sticking in his head.

Sighing, he closed the book and leant back against the cold stone wall behind him, watching his breath swirl up in frozen clouds against the stark November sky. It didn't help matters that Gryffindor's first match was against Slytherin. All week Draco Malfoy had been passing him notes in Potions class, each one detailing different graphic ways in which Harry was going to die horribly in the morning's match. He knew the blond boy was just trying to provoke him, but he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy at the idea of playing in front of him and the rest of the Slytherin crowd.

And then there was Snape. The man was fiercely proud of his snakes and Harry knew that he would be in the crowd, a fact that made him all the more nervous.

Things had been weird with the Potions professor since what Harry had come to describe in his head as the 'encounter'. The morning after, Harry had tried to follow Snape's instructions to a T. He'd kept one eye on the Slytherin table all the way through breakfast, panic rising in his chest as Crabbe and Goyle had arrived sans Malfoy. If he didn't apologise at breakfast, he wouldn't have another chance until tea, and that was cutting it awfully close to the 24-hour deadline. He really didn't want to invoke Snape's wrath twice in the same amount of days.

To his relief, Malfoy had sauntered into the Great Hall ten minutes later. Harry had risen, intercepting the other boy before he could reach the sanctuary of his house table.

'Look, Malfoy-' he'd started.

'Still here, Potter?' the other boy had interrupted, 'Wait until Father hears about this. He did tell me that Hogwarts was lowering its standards, but letting you stay? This place is really going to the dogs.'

'Listen-'

'You won't last much longer, anyway,' Malfoy had said, smiling cruelly, 'Not with the Quidditch tomorrow morning. You know, I heard that Hargreaves – he's the beater – has been practising his swing with giants in the Pennines. They say he could crush your skull with one-'

'Shut it, will you?' Harry said, frowning. 'I'm trying to apologise and you're not making it very easy.'

'I don't need your apology, Potter,' Malfoy had replied scornfully. He was lacking his usual bite, though, and Harry didn't miss how his gaze lingered warily on Harry's knuckles.

'Well you're getting it anyway,' Harry had said. 'I really am sorry. It was wrong of me to hit you and I won't do it again.'

Malfoy had just scowled at him and snorted in derision, before turning away to join his friends. Harry was surprised to see the Slytherin lower himself tentatively onto the bench, wincing slightly as his behind made contact with it. Snape couldn't have possibly… No, forget it. He mustn't have.

Oh well, Harry had thought. Snape had only said that he had to apologise to Malfoy, not that other boy had to accept it. The professor couldn't be angry at him for that.

He had been right. Snape hadn't been angry at him, or moody or displeased or even quietly contemptuous towards him, as he usually was. Harry had been petrified that the man would tell everyone about what had happened or make his life miserable in their next Potions class, but instead Snape had practically ignored him. Gone were the scathing comments and dark looks, replaced by indifference and distance.

The only time Snape had acknowledged him in the last three weeks was after the troll incident. When Snape had found them in the bathroom, his eyes had been filled with such fury that Harry was sure he'd turn him over his knee then and there. Instead, on the arrival of the other professors, the mist of icy disinterest had descended over his eyes once again. Harry had been confused. He wasn't complaining about not being whacked, but he was almost beginning to miss Snape's usual disparaging commentary. Anything was better than the odd cold-shoulder he was getting.

The troll incident had been fruitful in another way, though. Hermione Granger was now firmly one of his closest friends. The bushy-haired girl's enthusiasm for learning could be grating at times, and her and Ron bickered like a married couple, but Harry had to admit that he was glad to have her around. She filled in a gap that Harry hadn't realised was there; something about their little trio felt very complete now, as if it was as it should be.

She had her own opinion about the Snape situation, too, but Harry wasn't sure how much he agreed with it. To Harry's mortification, Hermione had somehow known about how Snape had punished him. He wasn't sure if she'd overheard him talking to the Weasleys about it, or whether she'd just worked it out in her own shrewd way, but he was secretly glad that she had found out by herself. As his close friend, he'd felt he ought to tell her, but he really hadn't been looking forward to bringing up the awkward subject.

Hermione's theory was that Snape was trying to distance himself from Harry on purpose. He had told her that Snape knew his parents, so she hypothesised that maybe the professor had been good friends with them, and that Harry reminded him too much of them, stirring up old grief.

It all sounded very girly and emotional to Harry. He was sure that Snape was simply avoiding him because he was nothing more than a nuisance to the man, and, after dealing with him once, Snape didn't want to get his hands dirty again.

Harry gasped as a dark shadow fell over him. He had been so busy puzzling over the Snape situation that he hadn't noticed the man himself approaching him until it was too late.

'Are you _trying _to catch a chill, Mr Potter?' Snape said, displeasure evident on his features.

Harry scrambled to his feet.

'No, Professor,' he said, moving to step past Snape. 'I was actually just heading inside.'

A hand shot out from the dark robes and grasped the front of his jumper, stopping him in his tracks.

'I don't think so,' Snape said, gesturing to the copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages _in Harry's hand. 'What is that?'

Harry was at a loss.

'A book?' he said blankly.

'Insolent child,' Snape growled, pulling the book from Harry's grasp. He flicked open the first page, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk.

'Once again, Mr Potter, you seem to think yourself above the rules of the school,' Snape said. 'No library books allowed outside the castle. You may collect this from my office tomorrow evening.'

Tomorrow evening! That was after the match!

'But I need it, sir!' Harry protested.

'Do not whine at me, Potter,' Snape said. 'What you need is to realise that rules are rules, regardless of how many Dark Lords you have defeated. I will see you tomorrow evening, no sooner.'

With that, Snape limped off towards the dungeons, leaving Harry deflated. Hang on, limped? Was the man injured? Hopefully, Harry thought bitterly, let the bully suffer. _Quidditch Through the Ages _had been his last chance of any success in tomorrow's match. Sighing, he began the walk back up to Gryffindor tower, resigning himself to the idea of his forthcoming title as worst seeker in Hogwarts history.

* * *

'Don't be silly, Harry,' Hermione said. 'He's not going to murder you. What's the worst that could happen? He's just a man, after all.'

'What's the worst that could happen?_' _Ron repeated, incredulous. 'Hermione, have you _met _Snape? Charlie told me that once he hung an entire second year class from the top of the astronomy tower by their ankles just because he thought one of them stole a sprig of fanged geranium!'

'You're being ridiculous, Ronald,' Hermione snapped. 'If Harry really wants that book back, then there's no harm in asking. Snape might not be the most pleasant of teachers but I'm sure he can be perfectly reasonable.'

'Snape? Reasonable? You're having me on,' Ron said, flopping back into the sofa cushions. 'There's no point arguing with you, Mione. You're bloody barmy.'

Hermione folded her arms indignantly, sticking her tongue out at the redhead. Ron thumbed his nose right back at her.

Harry looked back and forth between the squabbling pair, trying to decide what to do. Since lunch, the trio had been stationed in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, furiously debating over what Harry should do about Snape's confiscating _Quidditch Through the Ages. _He'd tried to just forget about the book, but as the match drew closer and closer, fear was building up and up in the pit of his stomach. Biting his lip, he mulled over how much it really meant to him.

'Hermione's right,' he finally said. Ron gaped at him. 'I've got to at least try and get it back.'

Hermione gave him a reassuring smile.

'My dad always says that if you don't try you've already failed,' she said. 'If Snape says you can't have it back, we'll just work out another way to make sure you're prepared for tomorrow. Shall we go and find him now? It'd be best to get it done before dinner.'

Not for the first time, Harry felt lucky to have Hermione around. She was uncannily like a middle-aged mum sometimes, but then again, sometimes that was exactly what the boys needed.

'Thanks, Hermione, but I'd rather go alone,' he said, standing up. 'I'll see you two later.'

'If you're sure,' she replied. 'Good luck.'

'Yeah, good luck, mate,' Ron echoed, grinning sympathetically. 'Rather you than me.'

* * *

Harry tiptoed towards the staff room. He knew students were allowed there, but it was uncharted territory for him, and he felt very much like an imposter.

He reached the slightly ajar door and was about to knock, but something about the sound of the voices inside stopped him. Harsh hushed words were being exchanged in an urgent tone. Curious, Harry peered through the crack between the door and the jamb, his eyes widening at the scene before him.

Snape was sat in a wooden chair, his usual dour countenance replaced by a slight pained grimace. Filch was on his knees next to the Potions professor, his calloused hands working with surprising dexterity on the subject of Harry's horror; Snape's leg. It was swollen and covered in blood, with weeping puncture marks either side of his shin. Wishing he'd never left the safety of Gryffindor tower, he turned to leave, managing to step on what must have been the loudest floorboard in the whole of Hogwarts castle.

Harry froze.

'Who's there?' Snape barked.

At the lack of response, the door was thrown open, and Harry found himself being dragged into the staffroom by the scruff of his shirt. He was deposited in front of a very angry Potions Master.

'What in God's name are you doing here, boy?' Snape said in a low voice.

Harry scrambled to compose himself, trying to remember what he had come for.

'I was just wondering if I could have my library book back,' he mustered finally. 'I know you said I could have it back tomorrow, but it's almost been six hours since you took it and I really do need it.'

At Snape's stony silence, he added a desperate, 'Please?'

The man's stare only darkened. Harry tried a different tack.

'Is your leg okay, sir?' he asked, trying to change the subject.

Snape slammed his fist onto the table with a resounding crack. Filch's medical supplies jumped at the force of the blow.

'Get out,' he said, his voice a dangerous growl. Harry took a step backwards, eyes widening. 'Get _out. OUT!'_

Harry turned on his heel and ran.

* * *

Ron and Hermione had already gone down to dinner by the time that Harry stepped back through the portrait hole. Heart still hammering in his chest, he headed down to join them.

'Sorry, Harry,' Hermione apologised as he sat down, 'we would have waited but _someone _was too impatient.'

'I was hungry!' Ron objected, trying to not look too enthusiastic about the plate of sausages he was midway through devouring. 'Sorry, mate.'

'It's okay,' Harry said. He eyed the spread of food in front of him, trying not to feel too queasy.

'So?' Hermione asked. 'How did it go?'

Harry shook his head.

'Not great,' he said. Trying not to miss out any details, he filled them in on what he had seen. Hermione's jaw dropped at his description of Snape's wound.

'Well, we know what that's from don't we,' she exclaimed.

Harry and Ron shared a glance, glad to find that each looked as confused as the other.

'Do we?' Ron said.

'Goodness, Ron, you can be a bit dense sometimes,' Hermione chided. 'Think! What is there in the castle that could cause a nasty bite like that? Harry, you know what I'm talking about, don't you?'

'Um, yeah, course,' Harry said, racking his brain. What in Hogwarts could have caused an injury like Snape's? Hermione had called it a bite, so an animal. One that was big enough to fit its jaw around a man's leg, with teeth long and sharp enough to leave those gaping holes…

'Fluffy!' he said triumphantly as the realisation hit him. 'Snape was bitten by Fluffy.'

'My thoughts exactly,' Hermione said. 'But when could it have happened?'

Harry thought about it for a second.

'Hallowe'en,' he replied with certainty. 'The whole school was too distracted by that troll to notice him slip off.'

'The bugger must have set the troll loose himself!' Ron added, frowning. 'Sound just like something the slimy git would…'

The redhead trailed off, his eyes fixed on something behind Harry. Terrified that Snape had somehow managed to sneak up on their conversation, Harry whipped around, relieved to see that it was only Henning Fischer, a lean, dark-haired Slytherin prefect.

'Note for you, Potter,' Fischer said, radiating disinterest as he pressed a folded piece of parchment into Harry's hand. 'Do stop staring at me, Weasel. Take a picture, if you must; it lasts longer.'

Ron looked away, his face turning a similar colour to his hair. Feeling bad for his friend, Harry took the parchment from Fischer and unfolded it.

_Mr Potter,_

_See me after dinner. Come alone. Do not make me wait._

_Professor S. Snape_

Confused, Harry looked up at the older Slytherin.

'Do you know why he wants to see me?' he asked Fischer.

'What do you think, Potter?' Fischer snapped. 'Do I look like I'm close friends with Professor Snape? Best pals, perhaps? Bosom buddies? Do you think we trade conversation over dinner as to the inner workings of his mind? Not likely. It's all orders from him; 'Fischer' this, 'Fischer' that, 'Fischer, walk half way across the hall to deliver a note to that ungrateful specky brat at the Gryffindor table. Treats me like a flipping owl, he does.'

Harry regretted asking the question. He felt like he should apologise to the Slytherin prefect, but the boy was already half way back to his table, still ranting to no one in particular about how unjust his treatment was. Instead, he turned back to his friends. At their curious looks, he passed them the note from Snape.

'Bit vague, isn't it,' Ron said. 'I wonder why he wants to see you?'

'I don't know,' Harry said, but was beginning to think that he did. It was fair to say that Snape hadn't been all too pleased to see Harry snooping around outside the staff room earlier. The note didn't seem like a cordial invite to tea and crumpets; instead, Harry had a bad feeling that he wouldn't make it out of the meeting in one piece.

Judging by her anxious expression on reading the note, Hermione seemed to be having the same thoughts.

'You better finish your food quickly, Harry,' she said, forcing a bleak smile. 'You don't want to keep him waiting any longer than necessary.'

Hermione was probably right. Harry glanced up at the teachers' table, only to see Snape's place very much vacant. Wolfing down the last of his mashed potatoes, he said goodbye to his friends and headed towards the dungeons.

He felt like he was heading to his own execution. When he was much younger, he'd visited the Tower of London with the Dursleys. The trip hadn't ended very well, with Dudley managing to lock Harry in one of the cells for two hours, but before that had happened, he remembered being captivated by the morbid descriptions of prisoners that had been sentenced to death. They'd had no option but to put one foot in front of the other and walk themselves to the executioner's block. Harry sympathised greatly with them as he made his journey down to the dungeons.

He braced himself as he finally reached the Potions corridor. Snape really had been furious earlier. Harry couldn't separate the image in his mind of the man's hand slamming down on the staff room table from the idea of it hitting something, well, much more in Harry's interest that it did not hit. After their last encounter the sting had mostly faded from his backside by the end of the following day, but the memory still remained clear in his mind, and it was something that he most definitely didn't want to repeat. Drawing on the depths of his Gryffindor courage, he knocked on the door of the Potions classroom.

At the lack of an answer, he gently pushed it open. The room was empty. There was a potion simmering on a table at the front, and several ingredients were laid out on the chopping board next to it, but Snape was nowhere to be seen. Curious, Harry took a few steps towards the table, and then a few more, peering inside the cauldron. The potion inside was a dark, swirling mess of gold and black. Harry found himself captivated, watching the glittering concoction eddy and whorl.

'Chelidonium Miniscula.'

Harry jumped at the voice behind him, leaping away from the cauldron.

'The potion; that's what it's called,' Snape continued. To Harry's surprise, the man's voice seemed to lack anger. It was more weary than anything. 'Nobody is quite sure what its purpose is. I brew it when I need to focus; it's the perfect distraction - a pointless potion.'

'I did knock,' Harry said, not sure what to say.

'I heard,' the professor replied. He gestured to the chair in front of the classroom desk. 'Sit down.'

Harry did so, and Snape took the chair on the other side. Face to face with the man, Harry was suddenly aware of how tired he looked. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was drained of colour beyond his usual pallor.

'I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, Potter,' Snape said.

'I know I shouldn't ha-'

'I want to apologise,' the Potions Master cut in. Harry's jaw hit the floor. Out of all the things that could have come out of Snape's mouth, that was the last thing he was expecting.

Speechless, he managed to muster, 'For what?'

'For today,' Snape said. 'On reflection, it became clear to me that I acted quite inappropriately. Perhaps you should not have been eavesdropping, but I, without question, should not have reacted in the way that I did. I will endeavour to make sure that it does not occur again.'

Harry was bewildered. Behind all of the professor's formality, Harry was sure that Snape had just said sorry for shouting at him. He wasn't quite sure how to respond.

'Thanks, Professor,' he said tentatively. 'I'll, um, endeavour to make sure that I don't eavesdrop again.'

Snape offered him an acknowledging nod.

'One last thing,' the man said. He reached into a desk draw and pulled out _Quidditch Through the Ages_, dropping it in front of Harry. 'You are playing Slytherin tomorrow, after all. You will need all the help you can get.'

'Now, go,' the man continued, 'get out of my sight before I change my mind.'

'Thank you!' Harry said, grinning.

He jumped up and headed to the door, his book clutched to his chest and a new spring in his step. Hand on the doorknob, he paused.

'Can I ask you something?' Harry said, buoyed by the fearsome professor's near-kindness and feeling brave.

Snape looked up from where he had begun working on the potion again. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to refuse Harry's request, but eventually he nodded.

'What were my parents like?'

* * *

Severus had not been expecting the question. Once he dismissed Potter, he'd thought the boy would flee from his classroom, but it seemed that would not be the case.

He toyed with the idea of snapping at the child, refusing to answer the question and demanding that he was allowed at least a moment's peace, but something about the look in the boy's eye stopped him. There was a desperate longing there, a silent plea that Severus could not ignore.

For almost a month now he had been trying to put distance between himself and the Potter boy. He was having none of Dumbledore's trite nonsense; to even imply that Severus should have some role in raising the child was merely the pipe dream of a foolish old man, and nothing more. Yet here he was, Potter's only shred of connection to his family. He cursed himself for letting slip to the boy that he had known his parents.

'Did you know them well?' Potter pushed, his voice sickeningly hopeful.

Severus sighed. He supposed he couldn't just ignore the boy.

'Your father, no. You could say that we butted heads,' he said, noting the disappointment in Potter's eyes. 'But your mother… we were childhood friends.'

The boy's eyes lit up once again.

'What was she like?' he said.

'Talented,' Severus replied. 'A talented witch, but she also had a talent for seeing beauty in places, and… and in people, when no one else believed it to be there.'

He hadn't spoken about Lily in years, but the familiar ache was already beginning to wrap itself around his chest.

'That's enough for tonight,' he said. Potter looked deflated but didn't say anything, as if he already knew that he was pushing his luck. 'Get some rest, Potter. You will need it if you are to lose by any respectable margin to Slytherin tomorrow.'

'The margin isn't going to be respectable, and it isn't going to be a loss either, don't you worry, sir,' Potter grinned impishly, heading towards the door. Impulsively, he turned and added a 'Goodnight, Professor'.

'Goodnight, Mr Potter,' Severus replied. Sighing, he rubbed a weary hand over his face. Had he really just told James Potter's progeny to 'get some rest' before bidding him goodnight? What had the world come to?


	3. Christmas at Hogwarts

**Hello **😊 **Sorry about the gap between updates! I just finished a long period of exams at school that were pretty important and will determine whether I get into uni (so sort of like NEWTs, I suppose!), and I had to focus on those for a while.**

**The story is still a bit of a slow burner - I'm trying to let Harry and Snape's relationship build up in a way that feels organic and not forced, but another chapter or two will take us to summer and then things will **_**really**_** pick up!**

**That being said, I do still hope you enjoy this chapter! I had good fun writing about wintertime in the depths of a summer heatwave! As always, reviews are welcomed, especially critical ones.**

**[Warning; as stated in the description, this story contains corporal punishment. If that upsets you or just isn't your thing, please do stop here!]**

* * *

_Chapter 3 – Christ__mas at Hogwarts_

The wind whipped the hair around Harry's face, tugging at the end of the Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck. Grinning and breathless, he pulled up on his broom and surveyed the scene below him.

Small groups of students were scattered over the snowy grounds, all wrapped up warmly and leaving trails of frosty air behind them. Harry spied Hannah Abbott and her sister building a snowman that looked suspiciously like Professor Flitwick, and there was a furious seven-way snowball fight going on between a group of fourth years on the shore of the great lake. Every now and then, Harry swore he saw a giant, pale tentacle extend from the water and add a snowball or two to the volley that was being exchanged between the students.

Directly below him, Ron's brother Percy was sat talking earnestly to a Ravenclaw girl with long, curly hair. He was happily oblivious to the fact that the twins were that very minute bewitching his prefect badge to pin itself to the angel on top of the highest tree in the Great Hall.

'You watching, Harry?' Ron called from his right, bringing his broom up so they were level. 'I think this is the one!'

'Yeah, go for it, mate,' he replied, grinning. He'd been trying to teach Ron the Heltziger Hustle, a complex Quidditch move that involved feinting by repeatedly dipping the broom up and down. So far Ron had mastered the down part but was having a little trouble with the up.

He watched as his best friend wheeled the school-issue broom around, his face set in a determined expression. Carefully, Ron dipped the tip of his broom towards the ground, drawing closer and closer to it before pulling up again. When he came level with Harry once more, he gently tipped his broom downwards again, hands gripping the shaft tightly, pulling up even closer to the ground this time.

He gave a triumphant whoop, which Harry returned. He was about to shout some words of encouragement when his excitement turned to panic.

'Swerve, Ron!' he shouted desperately. Too late. The end of Ron's broom planted itself squarely in the middle of snow-Flitwick's face, much to the Abbotts' horror. Ron was catapulted forward, tumbling head-over-heels and landing with a decided thud in a snowbank.

Worried, Harry sped towards the redhead, who was lying prone in the slushy snow. To his relief, as soon as he reached his friend, he realised the pitiful moan coming from him was one of embarrassment and not pain. Ron's plight was attracting a fair bit of attention: a few feet away, the Abbotts were trying admirably to stifle their giggles, and the group of fourth years by the lake had brought their snowball fight to a halt to point and laugh.

Harry grasped Ron by the hand and pulled him to his feet, failing to conceal his own amused smile.

'You almost had it there,' he said. 'There was something slightly off about the landing, though.'

Ron gave him a bemused look.

'Understatement of the year, mate,' he said, trying to brush some of the melting snow off his robes. He looked over to where Hannah was reconstructing the snowman's face and grimaced. 'At least it wasn't the real Flitwick.'

'True,' Harry said. 'One more try?'

Ron shook his head.

'I don't think the Abbotts would thank me. Besides, Fred and George said the house elves leave mince pies out by the fireplace on Christmas evening, and that's sounding more and more appealing,' he replied, gesturing to his soggy clothes.

The boys gathered up their brooms and began the walk up towards the castle.

They weren't alone in heading inside; it was getting late and cold and the warmth of the building was drawing more and more students in. They walked most of the way with Ernie MacMillan, a good-natured Hufflepuff, chatting about Christmas and presents and Hogwarts in general. By the time they reached the castle, Harry was buoyed by Christmas spirit.

At the foot of the Grand Staircase, they parted ways with Ernie, who headed down towards the kitchens with a cheery 'happy Christmas' and a promise to meet up for a game of gobstones sometime soon.

'Merry Christmas!' Harry called back after him.

'Had a good day, lads?' Nearly Headless Nick said, floating right through Ron.

'You promised to stop doing that!' Ron objected, shivering.

'Sorry, my boy,' Nick said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. 'Spend 536 years on this Earth and you find your memory starts to falter. I do remember Christmas, though, I did love it as a boy. In my 11th year, my father let me slaughter the Christmas turkey with my own bare hands.'

'That sounds great, Nick,' Harry said, trying his best to sound happy for the ghost. 'Happy Christmas!'

'Merry Christmas to you too, fellows,' said Nick genially before floating off.

'He's a right headcase, that one,' Ron said once the ghost was out of earshot.

Harry grinned.

'I mean, he did literally lose his head,' he said.

Ron opened his mouth to reply but was cut short as someone threw open a broom cupboard door and charged out of it, bowling him over.

'Oh my goodness, I absolutely did not mean to assault you,' the guilty party said, disentangling himself from Ron and pulling the latter to his feet. He was an older boy, maybe fifth year, with sandy blonde hair and a friendly face. 'I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?'

Ron shook his head.

'I'm fine.'

'Is someone out there, Ade?' A voice called from inside the broom cupboard. To Harry's surprise, Henning Fischer, the lean Slytherin prefect, emerged, his dark hair ruffled and collar askew. 'Ah, it's Potter and co. Well, let's not disturb their Christmas any longer, Adrian. That broom cupboard was definitely up to the high standard required by this institution. Let's find another one and continue our inspection of storage room quality.'

With that, Fischer took the sandy-haired boy, Adrian, by the hand and lead him off towards the door. The blond turned as they passed through it and smiled at the boys, calling out 'Happy Christmas!'.

'Well, that was weird,' Harry said after they had left, bewildered by the encounter. He could not fathom why anyone would carry out cupboard inspections on Christmas day.

Ron shrugged and the boys carried on up the Grand Staircase. They had almost made it to the seventh floor when Harry walked headlong into someone. Hoping they weren't disturbing another broom cupboard inspection, he stepped backwards, freezing when he saw who it was.

'Mr Potter,' Professor Snape enunciated slowly.

'Professor,' he replied, unsure of what to say. 'Um, merry Christmas.'

Harry regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth. Things had gone back to normal with Snape since the man had given his library book back. He much preferred the scathing comments and snide remarks to the odd silence from before; now, at least, he knew what he was doing wrong. Being on the receiving end of them, however, was still not exactly one of his most cherished hobbies. He didn't know what had possessed him to say something as stupid as 'merry Christmas' to the imposing man.

He cringed as Snape regarded them, his gaze shifting slowly from him to Ron and back to him again, unreadable as ever. Finally, the Potions Master spoke.

'Merry Christmas, Mr Potter,' Snape said. He nodded at Ron. 'Mr Weasley.'

The professor stalked off down a dark corridor, leaving Harry and Ron gaping at each other behind him.

* * *

Harry sat cross-legged on the hard stone floor, tracing the cracks in between the cobbles with his finger. He felt guilty. He knew he wasn't supposed to be out of bed, and he knew that students weren't meant to walk the corridors at night, and he also had an innate feeling that what he was doing, what he was _seeing,_ was deeply wrong. Yet he couldn't stay away.

The mirror gave him a glimpse of something that he had never had before; family. The elation he felt at seeing the generations of Potters stretching behind him was like nothing he had ever experienced. He truly belonged with these people. And his parents… his heart leapt at the thought of them. His mum was beautiful, with fiery red hair, like Ron's but slightly darker, and he looked more like his dad than he could ever have imagined.

Just one more look at them and then bed, he promised himself, stifling a yawn. He looked up at the mirror and was startled to see just one figure standing where before there had been many. Curious, he peered more closely at the mirror, pulling back in confusion when he realised that it was not a member of his family that stood there, but Snape. Why would the mirror show him Snape? Had it stopped working?

His puzzlement was quickly replaced by dread as he came to an altogether more terrifying conclusion. Turning around, his heart sunk at the affirmation that Snape was very much in the room, and his eyes were blazing with fury.

The man's expression was one of pure, cold anger. He advanced on Harry, firing fast questions. Why was he there? Did he know what time it was? Was this blatant disregard of the school rules purposeful or was Harry just a simpleton?

The professor reached him and gripped him by the collar. He pulled Harry to his feet, giving him a shake.

'Well?'

Harry looked down at the floor, desperately trying to keep his emotions in check. He would not give the spiteful Potions Professor the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Snape shook him again.

'Do these sound like rhetorical questions, Potter?' the man said, his tone acerbic. 'Answer me. Now.'

Harry looked up. He could feel tears pricking his eyes at the man's harsh tone. So much for not crying.

* * *

Severus stared down at the pitiful figure in his grip. He had been full of rage when he'd first seen the child, strutting around the castle in the middle of the night as if he owned the place. The boy had a talent for evoking James Potter with incredible ease, and it never failed to irk him.

He hadn't expected Potter to crumple like he had, though. The sight of the child's woeful expression and the dark circles under his eyes was almost enough to evoke pity in Severus. Almost.

Sighing, he released his grip on the collar and set the boy down on his feet.

'How many times have you come here?' he asked, taking the hard edge off his tone.

'Three,' Potter replied, his voice small. Severus could spot a lie from a mile away, and this was not one. Good, he thought, the boy had come to his senses.

'You are aware of the school's rules about roaming the castle at night, yes?' he asked.

The boy gave a small nod.

'Would you care to explain why you consciously broke those rules not once, not even twice, but three times?' he asked.

Potter shrugged. Severus felt his anger rising again, but pushed it away. The boy seemed particularly fragile tonight, and he knew that if he were to get a response from him, he would have to stay calm.

'A shrug is not an answer, Potter,' he said, his voice firm but steady.

'I don't know, sir,' Potter said, quietly. 'I know I shouldn't, but something keeps bringing me back.'

Severus felt a pang of sympathy for the child. He quashed it quickly; the boy must be deterred from visiting the mirror again, and sentimentality would not help him achieve that.

'The thing that keeps bringing you back here, Mr Potter, is your feet,' he said. 'If you cannot manage to keep them in bed, I am sure Mr Filch can provide you with a length of rope to aid you in that respect.'

A look of horror passed across Potter's face.

'No!' he objected. 'I mean, no, thanks, Professor. But it's not that… I mean, it obviously is my feet that bring me here, but they're not the reason why I keep coming back. I just… I don't know-'

'What do you see in the mirror?' Severus cut into Potter's inane babble. The boy looked up at him, shocked.

'Myself,' he replied after a moment.

Severus frowned.

'Do not lie to me,' he said, his tone warning.

'I wasn't, sir,' Potter said, his eyes widening. 'I really do see myself in the mirror. It's just, sometimes, there are a few… other people there, too. And they're not really here, and I know they're not real, but it's quite nice. I suppose that's why I came back.'

Severus regarded the child in front of him. His face held a sorry mix of hope and longing. Severus knew what longing was like, and he knew first-hand just how destructive it could be.

'It can't bring them back, Potter,' he said, hoping the boy would understand. The sorrow in his eyes when he met Severus' gaze told him that he did, but he did not expect he anger that he saw there too.

'I know that,' Potter said, a small frown creasing his forehead. 'I know that, and it doesn't matter. I'd never even seen their faces, sir, not until now.' He gestured at the mirror. 'What's so wrong with that?'

'You cannot begin to imagine, Potter,' Severus replied. 'Men and women far greater than you have lost their minds staring into what can never be. Mourn your parents, Potter, and miss them; that is your right. But do not lose yourself in what is merely a false projection of them. This cannot continue.'

The anger did not fade from Potter's face.

'You couldn't be any more cruel and horrible if you tried,' he said, crossing his arms and looking every bit the petulant child he was. 'You just want to take this away from me because you hate me.'

'Quite the contrary, Mr Potter,' Severus said, his tone clipped. The boy really was determined to try his patience. 'If I really so despised you, I would let you drive yourself insane over what you see in that mirror. Yet here I am, forbidding you from visiting it, simply so you can live to rile me another day with that incorrigible attitude of yours. Speaking of, Potter; if you cannot find a way to get your attitude under control, I am more than happy to provide some incentive. I cannot promise it will be enjoyable for both of us, though.'

Potter looked at his feet, blushing.

'Sorry,' he mumbled.

Severus nodded.

'Give me your word that you will not visit the mirror again,' he said.

To his astonishment, Potter shook his head.

'I can't,' Potter said, quietly.

'Excuse me?' Severus said in a low, slow voice. The child's insolence was reaching new heights.

'I can't stop coming,' Potter continued. 'You've got to understand, sir, it's my _parents_.'

'Have you not heard a single word I've said?' Severus said, incredulous. 'What you see in the mirror is nothing; it is not real, and it is not healthy to look upon for so long. You will not visit it again.'

'You can't stop me.'

Severus' temper flared. The boy's defiance was tiresome, and he had got to the end of his tether. He looked deeply at the boy, but to his surprise, there was none of the anger or insolence he expected to see in the child's eyes. Only fear. Potter really was terrified of losing what he thought was his only connection to his parents.

He took a deep breath and got a handle on his temper. He'd always been very good at rearranging his features to best suit his purpose, and this shouldn't be an exception. It was time for a different approach.

'Look at me,' Severus said, softening his voice as much as possible. Potter looked up, evidently surprised at the change in tone. 'Believe me, Potter, I understand how you feel, but it must stop. I know for a fact that your parents would not want you destroy yourself over this. If you are not going to stop visiting the mirror because it is me asking you to, do it instead for the love that you bear them.'

The boy shifted uncomfortably, obviously contemplating his words.

'This is not the only chance you will get to feel close to your parents,' Severus continued. 'But there are many other ways of doing so that are far less dangerous. Do you understand?'

Potter nodded.

'The mirror is being relocated imminently. Give me your word that you will not try to find it,' Severus asked one last time. Sighing, he added, 'Please.'

'I promise, sir,' Potter said, finally.

'Good,' Severus nodded in acknowledgment. He could have sighed with relief, but he didn't. There were other matters to attend to. He reached out and grasped the boy firmly by the arm, turning him to his side and ignoring the surprised protests. He delivered five hard smacks to his bottom, each one echoing with a resounding crack around the lofty room.

'What was that for?' Potter protested, rubbing his behind and once again appearing the petulant child that Severus knew him to be.

'I don't know, Potter, shall we have a think?' Severus said, folding his arms across his chest. 'How about your deliberate and repeated disregard for a basic rule of the school? Or, perhaps, your unacceptable outburst earlier. I am 'cruel' and 'horrible', after all. It would only be rude of me not to meet your expectations.'

The boy's cheeks went red and he stuffed his hands in his pyjama pockets.

'M'sorry,' he mumbled.

'I should hope so,' Severus said. 'I trust that you can find your way back to Gryffindor tower by yourself.'

Potter nodded earnestly. He could tell that the boy wanted an escort no more than Severus wanted to accompany him up to the seventh floor.

'Off with you then,' he said. He waited until Potter was almost at the door before raising his voice slightly and saying, 'and if I so much a hear a whisper that you have been out of bed after curfew… I can promise you that the consequences will be far, _far_ worse than tonight.'

Eyes wide, Potter nodded his understanding and hurried out of the door. Severus watched him leave, before finally turning to look at the object he had avoided so intently since he had entered the room.

Ever since Dumbledore had told him that he was bringing the Mirror of Erised to Hogwarts, Severus had refrained from visiting it. He knew what would be waiting there for him, and he knew that he could never possibly look upon it with composure. He had spent the whole conversation with Potter determinedly averting his gaze, but now the boy was gone, he sank down against a pillar, heaving with sobs as he stared into the emerald eyes that regarded him so sympathetically from the shimmering glass.

* * *

The rest of the Christmas holidays passed without incident and suddenly the next school term was upon them. Harry had enjoyed the holiday, but it was nice to get back into the routine of school, and it was good to see Hermione, too.

Week after week went by without anything going wrong, much to Harry's delight. Hogwarts really was starting to feel like his home, and he revelled in the normality of it all. One thing was playing on his mind, though, and that was the whole Philosopher's Stone mystery.

It didn't sit right with him that Snape was responsible for it. Every bit of evidence pointed towards the fact that the dour Potions Master was trying to steal the stone, but Harry was still struggling to believe it. He wasn't sure why – as Ron had rightly pointed out, the man was a massive git and the idea of him being a thief too shouldn't be unreasonable. Harry just couldn't put his finger on why it seemed so implausible to him.

He supposed that something about the idea made him sad. Dumbledore seemed to trust Snape, and it sounded like his mum had too, and the thought of him betraying the both of them was not a nice one.

The whole situation was very confusing. Whenever the doubts crept up on him, he tried his best to shake them off and picture Snape as the evil thief that Ron and Hermione were sure he was. It was harder than he thought. The man was stony faced and hard, yes, he swooped around the dungeons like an ugly, sinister bat and spat cutting insults at every opportunity; he was mean, cruel, bad-tempered and seemed to enjoy making first-years suffer, but was he evil? Harry wasn't sure.

One thing that he was certain of was that Snape was scary. The promise that he had left Harry with on the night that he had caught him at the Mirror of Erised had lingered at the back of his mind ever since. Harry had avoided leaving Gryffindor tower in the middle of the night on several occasions this term; he had even refused a trip with Ron to the kitchens for a midnight sundae, which had been desperately hard. He was not about to risk it, though – he wasn't sure what Snape's 'consequences' would be, and he definitely did not want to find out.

Yet there he found himself, only a few months later, slipping silently down the spiral staircase with Hermione just behind him. The triumph they had felt as Norbert was whisked away into the darkness by Charlie's friends had soon been replaced with worry, and they had started back to the safety of Gryffindor tower as soon as the dragon was out of sight.

Reaching the foot of the staircase, Harry went push the door open, but halted at Hermione's small 'Harry'. He turned to face her, only to see her white as a sheet and pointing to the shadows. Harry's heart sunk as Filch stepped out from behind a pillar, grinning from ear to ear.

'Well, well, well,' the caretaker whispered gleefully, 'we _are _in trouble.'

* * *

Harry, Hermione and Neville walked back to Gryffindor tower in morose silence. Harry was going over what had happened again and again in his head. How had things possibly gone so wrong? 150 points! They'd be social pariahs in Gryffindor – maybe it was a good time to start making some Slytherin friends.

Hermione finally broke the silence as they were nearing the seventh floor.

'We're really sorry you got involved in this, Neville,' she said, poking Harry, who nodded. 'Thank you for trying to help us.'

'It's okay,' Neville said, the waver in his voice betraying the fact that it was far from okay. 'I can't believe Professor McGonagall would take so many point from her own house… if my Nan finds out..'

'I'm sure she won't,' Harry said, giving Neville a weak smile, 'at least it can't get any worse than this.'

'Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that, Mr Potter,' a voice said from ahead of them. Harry froze, his stomach turning over. Snape was leaning against the Fat Lady's frame, arms folded and a cruel smile on his face.

'Mr Longbottom, Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to make your way to your dormitories,' Snape continued, 'Mr Potter and I have some business to attend to.'

Hermione gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze and followed Neville through the portrait hole. The portrait swung shut behind Harry's friends all too quickly, leaving Harry and Snape alone in the corridor.

* * *

**That's it for now, but there's more on the way! I hope you enjoyed it and please do review if you have time, it means a lot** 😊


	4. The Philosopher's Stone

**Thank you all **_**so **_**much for your reviews, it honestly means a great amount and is a massive motivating factor. I apologise for leaving you guys with that semi-cliffhanger!**

**I can completely understand that the story may have felt a little rushed up to this point – I've been trying to dash through first year to flesh out Harry and Snape's relationship and make the upcoming events feel more natural. The chapter after this one takes us to summer, where the plot really picks up and the pace slows down. Events will diverge more from canon and we really will properly enter this AU! I am very excited to share it with you :)**

**In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I originally intended it to be a shorter one but it got a little out of hand! **

**[Warning: as stated in the description, this story contains corporal punishment. If that upsets you or is just not your thing, **_**please **_**stop reading now]**

* * *

_Chapter 4 – The Philosopher's Stone_

Harry had a lot of time to think on the walk down to the dungeons. Snape's stony silence wasn't exactly good company, so he was left alone to his thoughts, and by the time he was deposited unceremoniously in the wooden chair in front of Snape's desk, his initial fear had turned to indignance.

'This isn't fair,' Harry said before Snape had the chance to get a word out.

Surprise flickered across the professor's face.

'I'm sorry?' he said, raising an eyebrow.

'It's not,' Harry continued, ignoring the hard glare being levelled at him. 'You told me that you don't believe in double jeopardy. Professor McGonagall already dealt with us being out of bed, and she wasn't even kind about it – she took off 50 points! Each!'

The Potions Master stared at him but said nothing. Emboldened, Harry continued, 'And my friends aren't here, either. If this really was about breaking the rules, you'd have dragged them down here too, but it's not. You've always had it out for me, and I don't know why but it's not fair to… you know, to do what you're going to do to me just because you don't like me.'

'Are you quite finished?' Snape said once Harry was done. He didn't wait for a reply. 'Despite the ridiculous conclusion that you and your lofty intellect have somehow reached, I think you will find that your situation is indeed fair. Yes, Professor McGonagall punished you for breaking the school's rules on roaming the castle at night, and quite justly, too, may I add. She did not punish you, however, for disobeying me.'

'I didn't!' Harry protested indignantly.

'Are you telling me you weren't out of bed at night?' Snape said, folding his arms. 'I find that _exceedingly _hard to believe, given where I found you.'

'No, I mean I didn't actually disobey you,' Harry said. 'You never actually told me not to leave Gryffindor Tower at night. You just sort of made a vague threat.'

'Oh, it was vague, was it?' Snape said, 'I thought that your limited capacity for intelligent thought exceeded that of a Neanderthal but evidently I was wrong. Next time I will spell it out for you.'

He paused, leaning closer to Harry.

'And believe me, Potter,' the man continued, his tone more dangerous, 'it was not a threat. It was a promise.'

Snape's words gave Harry chills. He decided to change tack.

'I did nothing worse than Hermione and Neville' he said, 'and you don't seem angry at them.'

'Were Miss Granger and Mr Longbottom there for our conversation at Christmas?' Snape said, his question full of mock sincerity. 'Were they hiding behind the pillars, perhaps? Because if they were, I shall quite happily go and pull them from their beds and-'

'No!' Harry interrupted, 'I mean, no, sir, of course they weren't.'

'Then I fail to see what point you are making,' Snape said. 'Unlike yourself, they did not disobey me directly and wilfully, so I have no quarrel to take up with them.'

'It's just not fair!' Harry protested, fully aware of how silly he sounded. He was frustrated; Snape had a snide reply ready to shoot down any point Harry tried to make.

'Potter, you are acting like an obstinate child,' Snape snapped. Apparently the professor was getting frustrated too. 'Listen to me.'

'No!'

The word slipped out of Harry's mouth before he could stop it. Horrified, his eyes widened as Snape's expression darkened. From the corner of his eye he saw the man raise his hand and he cringed away from the oncoming blow…

It never fell. Harry looked up, tentative. Snape's hand was not raised and ready to strike as he had expected; instead, it was frozen behind his ear where it had been tucking his hair. All anger had dropped from his face and he was regarding Harry with a strange look.

_Idiot, _Harry berated himself internally, _you absolute bloody idiot! _Snape hadn't been about to whack him; he'd just been tidying his hair. Desperately, he searched the man's face for some hint of how he would react.

Snape let his hand drop to his side and continued to regard Harry, his expression remaining unreadable. When he eventually broke the long silence, he spoke in a steady and serious voice. The anger and disdain from earlier were gone.

'I am going to ask you some questions, Mr Potter,' Snape said, 'and I would like you to answer them as truthfully as you possibly can. Do you understand?'

Harry nodded, equal measures curious and nervous.

'Have your muggle relatives ever purposefully physically harmed you?' Snape asked.

Harry balked. The question was not one that he was expecting, and not one that he was willing to answer, either. It tore through him like a bullet, ripping down walls he'd worked hard to build in his mind and releasing a torrent of emotion and memory. He saw the red of his uncle's furious countenance, the blue-black of mottled bruises, the blinding white of china plates smashing against a pink striped wall and the ugly green of the Privet Drive staircase as it hurtled towards his face at frightening speed. His ears rang with the familiar shouts and he could almost feel the thud of flesh on flesh. He held back a shudder. No, this was not something that he wanted to discuss.

'Potter?' Snape pushed at his lack of response.

Harry shook his head.

'Don't want to talk 'bout it,' he mumbled.

'I know,' Snape sighed, 'believe me, I know. But I am afraid you have no choice. For your own welfare, you must answer my questions. I promise you, your answers will stay between you and me, unless I deem it necessary to share them, in which case it would only be with few select individuals and for your own safety. You have my word that your peers will not know. I will ask you one more time; have your muggle relatives ever purposefully harmed you?'

Harry looked at Snape. The man was definitely cruel and horrible, and according to Ron and Hermione he was without doubt an evil thief, but his face held no trace of that now. He instead appeared earnest and serious, and if there was one thing Harry knew about the professor, it was that he was a man of his word. Was there really so much harm in talking to him about the Dursleys?

'Yeah,' Harry managed eventually, his voice barely above a whisper. 'Yeah, they did, a little.'

'I see,' Snape said, 'and what exactly did they do to you?'

'Um, you know,' Harry fumbled for the right words, 'Uncle Vernon sometimes threw me around a bit, and, um, if he was really angry, he'd hit me.'

'Hit you where?' Snape asked.

'Anywhere, really,' Harry blushed, uncomfortable. 'It was only if I'd been really bad, though.'

'And what precisely did you do that was 'really bad'?' Snape asked, frowning.

'Stupid things,' Harry replied, 'like asking too many questions or doing accidental magic or being a burden.'

Harry suddenly became very conscious of how bad he was making his relatives sound. Aunt Petunia always said he was ungrateful and maybe she was right; they had let him stay in their house for 10 years, after all. Blushing, he quickly rushed to rectify his mistake.

'It wasn't all bad, though,' he said, 'I had food most of the time and I always had a place to sleep. It's not their fault that they didn't really want me around; I did just appear on their doorstep and they did a good thing by taking me in.'

'Potter,' Snape said.

'Aunt Petunia never hit me and Uncle Vernon only did when he thought I'd been bad,' Harry continued, 'and he never hurt me that much – I only broke a bone once, and that was only my wrist, which healed really quickly.'

'Potter,' Snape repeated.

'Honestly, sir, I need you to believe me,' Harry pressed on, 'I _am _grateful that they let me into their house, I really am. They did lots of kind things for me and it's not their fault I was difficult to look after.'

'_Potter,_' Snape said once more, this time more firmly. Harry stopped speaking and looked at him. 'You will _not _justify their behaviour towards you. It was despicable, and they do not deserve your gratitude. Am I understood?'

Harry gave a small nod, perplexed. No one had ever said anything like that to him before.

'Let me be clear about something,' Snape said. 'My punishments do not come from a place of anger. There are rules that must be adhered to, and when you do not adhere them, there are consequences. These rules are either there for your own safety or for the safety of others. I would never dole out physical pain on a whim or based on my own emotion, or because you committed a crime so subjective and unquantifiable as 'being a burden'. There will always be a reason and you will always be able to object should you feel that it is not justified. Does that make sense?'

Harry nodded.

Snape was quiet for a long time, and Harry had no desire to break the silence. Eventually, the professor asked, 'Did I remind you of your uncle when I punished you last term?'

Harry was surprised at the question, and even more so at the hint of worry that Snape's voice carried. Snape was giving him a way out here; he was sure that if he said yes, the man would not deal with him in the same painful manner again. As appealing as that idea was, however, something in Harry's gut wanted to give Snape an honest answer.

He thought hard about the question. It had hurt when Snape had taken him over his knee, and Uncle Vernon made him hurt too, but that was the only commonality between the two men. His uncle was unpredictable and explosive. The violence always burst out of nowhere and dissipated just as quickly, leaving Harry sore and confused. It was different with Snape; he had made it clear what Harry had done wrong and why he was in that situation. With his uncle, it was always violence first and talk later, but Snape seemed to prefer discussion then repercussions.

If he asked himself honestly, the thought of his uncle had not once crossed his mind when Snape had punished him for punching Malfoy.

'No,' he said quietly.

'Are you _sure_?' Snape asked.

Harry nodded.

'I'm certain.'

'Very well then,' Snape said, 'I appreciate this is not easy to talk about. You have been very mature.'

Harry wasn't sure what to say to the awkward compliment. It was not in Snape's character to give them, nor was it one that Harry felt he deserved.

'I hope this means that you have the maturity to discuss your behaviour this evening,' Snape continued, freeing him from the awkward silence, '_without _the childish remarks and attitude of earlier. Am I correct in this assumption?'

'Yeah, 'course,' Harry nodded, blushing.

'Good,' Snape said. 'Answer me honestly; were you or were you not fully aware of how displeased I would be should you leave Gryffindor Tower at night?'

'I was, sir,' Harry replied.

'And when you stepped through the portrait hole this evening to embark upon your ridiculously hare-brained escapade, did you do so knowing that you were breaking the rules of the school _and _going against my will?' Snape asked.

'Yes, sir,' Harry said quietly.

'I see,' Snape said. He folded his arms. 'As I said, you are always welcome to object should you feel you are being unjustly punished, but I must say, the evidence is really stacking up against you, Potter. What on Earth possessed you?'

'It was for Hagrid,' Harry said defensively, 'he needed our help.'

'Hagrid is an adult,' Snape shot back. 'He needs many things, beard trimmers and a new coat included, but one thing he does not require is your help. Next time a situation like this arises, the first thing you will do is go straight to an adult.'

Harry frowned, biting back a comment about how Snape needed many things too, shampoo and a new personality included. He didn't like the disdain in the man's tone when he talked about Hagrid, but it wouldn't help Harry's situation to anger him further. Instead, he nodded and gave a reluctant 'Yes, sir'.

'Good,' Snape said. 'It may seem trivial this time, Potter, but should you keep shouldering tasks such as this yourself, without alerting the relevant adults, you will quickly find yourself in far stickier and far more dangerous situations. You will get hurt, and that is… undesirable.'

Harry's jaw dropped slightly. He was almost certain Snape had just said that he didn't Harry to get hurt.

'Don't look so surprised, Potter,' Snape said sharply, 'it simply reflects rather badly on a teacher should one of their students get maimed whilst attending the school.'

Harry closed his mouth, embarrassed. That made more sense; it was merely self-preservation on Snape's part.

'Let us stop wasting time,' Snape continued, 'we have established that you knowingly and recklessly disobeyed me, and I have little else to add. Have you got anything to say for yourself?'

Harry shook his head. Snape was right; he'd stepped out of the Tower knowing exactly how much trouble he would be in with the Potions Master should they be discovered. He had still done it, and would do it again given the chance, but he could not deny that it was wrong of him to do so.

'No, sir,' he said, his cheeks growing hot. He knew what was coming.

'I see,' Snape said, pushing himself up from where he leant against the desk. 'Then let us get this over with.'

He stepped around the wide desk and took the seat behind it.

'It will be no different to last time,' he said. 'Come to me.'

Harry's stomach turned. He wished the man wouldn't make him walk to him; it was, by far, the hardest part. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up from the wooden chair and walked around the desk, his legs leaden.

'You know exactly what you did wrong,' Snape said, once Harry was stood in front of him. 'It was wilful, it was inexcusable, and it will not happen again. Is that clear?'

Harry gave a small nod.

'Pardon?' the professor said.

'Yes, sir,' he ground out. It was not often that Harry found himself this close to the imposing man, and it made him feel both very vulnerable and very nervous.

'Good,' Snape said. He smoothed his robes over his knees and took Harry by the upper arm, pulling him across his lap. 'Do not hide your tears. It is a waste of energy.'

With that, Snape started raining down smacks on Harry's behind. There was no warm-up – he started full force and continued that way. Harry was fighting tears from the very first smack, until he remembered the man's words and gave up, letting them fall.

After what felt like an eternity, the smacks ceased to fall. As Harry gasped for air over Snape's lap, he realised that no more than 30 seconds could have passed; how had the man lit such a fire in his behind in so short a time?

Just like the first time, two firm hands righted him. Harry rushed to wipe the tears from his face with the sleeve of his pyjama top. Why was he crying so much? Uncle Vernon had caused him far more pain in the past and he hadn't shed a single tear, but Snape gave him a few silly smacks and he was sobbing like a baby.

Wordlessly, Snape flicked his wand and conjured a tissue, handing it to Harry.

'Thanks,' Harry sniffed, blushing as even more tears welled in his eyes.

'You are welcome, Potter,' Snape said. He raised a hand and gave Harry's shoulder an awkward squeeze. 'You… erm, you took that well.'

Harry looked at Snape, eyes wide. Before he could say anything, the man let go of his shoulder and handed him another tissue, saying, 'You better head back to your dormitory now. It is late.'

Harry nodded and took the tissue, still not quite processing what had happened.

'Night, Professor,' he said, heading towards the office door.

'Goodnight, Potter,' Snape said. 'It would benefit you to remember that whilst you now have a clean slate regarding your behaviour tonight, should you repeat the offence… well, I would not like to be in your shoes.'

'Got it, sir,' Harry said, feeling slightly more cheery as he pushed open the door. Snape was back to his normal ominous, threatening self and, aside from Harry's stinging backside, all was right in the world.

* * *

'To what do I owe the pleasure, Severus?' Albus said, swinging his slippered feet down from where they had been resting on his desk and putting aside the dusty tome he was reading. 'The hour is ever so late.'

'We need to talk about the Potter boy,' Severus said, closing the door behind him.

'Ah, Harry, yes' Albus said, smiling, 'do continue.'

Severus was not smiling. He had been horrified at what Potter had to say about his muggle relatives, and angry too, but above all else surprised. Petunia had always been a sour child, but he was shocked and disappointed that she could have allowed such unthinkable things to occur under her own roof.

Potter had been right about one thing; Severus did not like him. The boy was arrogant, childish, generally bothersome, and he was a walking, talking reminder of the worst aspect of Severus' time at Hogwarts. Even James Potter's spawn, however, did not deserve the abuse that Potter had described, and Severus would be damned if he didn't put a stop to it.

'The boy is being abused by those muggles you've housed him with,' Severus said, straight to the point. 'He must be removed from their care.'

A shadow passed over the older wizard's face.

'Ah,' Albus said quietly, 'so it is as I feared.'

Severus' impeccable control on his emotions slipped just beyond his reach.

'_As you feared?'_ he roared, blind with rage. He covered the distance between himself and Dumbledore in three great strides and slammed his hands down on the desk. 'You _knew_,' he spat, 'and you _left _him there?'

'Knew? No,' Albus said softly, a great sadness in his eyes. 'Suspected, yes. The squib I placed in the neighbourhood to watch over Harry never reported any abuse, but she had said he was quiet, rarely left the house and oft wore clothes far too big for him. The signs were there; in my heart, perhaps, I noticed them. But I turned my head for reasons you must understand.'

'You bastard,' Severus seethed, 'you willingly turned a blind eye. They could have broken that child!'

Dumbledore winced at his words. Remorse was evident across the older wizard's face, but it did not mollify Severus. The man had done him many favours over the years, but to allow a child to grow up in an abusive home… that was not something Severus could take lightly. Albus deserved no sympathy on this matter.

'It was for his own safety, Severus,' Albus said. 'The blood wards offer him protection far beyond what any of us could hope to give him.'

'Your blasted wards didn't protect him from his own family.'

'I know, my boy,' Albus sighed, 'I know. And I could not regret it any more than I do.'

'He flinched, Albus,' Severus said, stepping back from the desk. 'I barely raised my hand, and it was just to tuck my hair behind my ear, and he flinched away, as if I was… It made me feel like my…'

'I understand, Severus. We need not speak of that,' Albus said.

Severus nodded.

'He cannot go back to that house this summer,' he said.

'He must,' Albus said, his voice full of sorrow. 'We have no option.'

'They do not care for him, Albus,' Severus said, 'they _hurt_ him. We both know what it can do to a boy to grow up in a household like that.'

'It pains me greatly, but there is no other choice,' Albus said. 'He must only spend the two short summer months there each year for the blood wards to hold. That is a small price we must pay for his survival.'

'It is not we who pay the price, Albus,' Severus said. 'It is the child.'

'Would you rather see him dead?' the old man asked.

Severus looked long and hard at him. The usual twinkle was not present behind the half-moon lenses; instead, Albus just looked weary. He would get no further with the stubborn old man on this topic.

'Of course not,' he said, turning on his heel and striding out of the room. If he had looked behind him, he would have seen a single, sorrowful tear fall from the headmaster's eye, but he did not.

* * *

Harry tugged open the trapdoor and stared into the uninviting darkness below him.

'Wonder what's waiting down there,' he mused aloud.

'Whatever it is, I'm sure you can manage it, Harry. We'll be right behind you,' Hermione said, giving him a reassuring smile. Ron, who was still playing the flute to keep Fluffy asleep, gave an encouraging toot.

Harry wasn't so sure about that. He wasn't worried about magical beasts or spells; they made a good team, and they'd fought a troll before and won. It was the thought of coming across Snape that made his stomach turn. Harry had no idea what he would do or say when they caught up with the Potions Master.

'We better get on with it, Harry,' Hermione said, patting his shoulder, 'If you don't feel like going first, I'm happy to-'

'No, I'll do it,' Harry said firmly. He swung his feet over the edge of the hole, took a deep breath, and plunged into the waiting darkness.

* * *

Harry watched Dumbledore leave until the great wooden doors swung shut behind him, and then flopped back down onto his pillows. He had a lot of thinking to do.

He thought about what Dumbledore had said to him, about how Voldemort would keep trying to come back, about how he couldn't be killed. It should make him scared, Harry knew, but it didn't. As hard as he tried, he couldn't banish the warm feeling that came with knowing that he had his mum's love protecting him.

He thought about Quirrell, about all that had happened after he had passed through the fire into the final chamber. It was still hard for him to process. He had been shocked to see Quirrell standing there, in front of the mirror, but his first emotion hadn't been surprise. It had been relief that it wasn't Snape.

The relief hadn't lasted long, though. Harry could still feel Quirrell's flesh blistering and melting away under his fingers. Grimacing, he rolled over and tried to think of something else.

'Does your head hurt, child?' Madam Pomfrey's high voice echoed across the Hospital Wing.

'No, it's not… it's just the thought of…' Harry sighed. He didn't really want to talk about it, and his head _was_ pounding anyway. 'Yeah. I've got a bit of a headache.'

'Here,' the matron said, hurrying over to him with a potion in hand, 'take this. And _rest_. I did tell Professor Dumbledore that you weren't ready for visitors, but did he listen? Of course not.'

'I'm fine, really,' Harry said. The matron tutted, fixing him with a disbelieving look, so he added, 'I promise.'

'Drink,' Madam Pomfrey said sternly, pushing the potion vial into his hand. 'And rest. I know a tired boy when I see one.'

Harry stuck his tongue out at the woman's back and gulped down the bitter potion, trying not to gag. The pain relief was instant. He hadn't realised how much his head hurt until the fog lifted from behind his eyes, and now he thought about it, his eyelids did feel a little heavy…

The next few days went by in a blur. Harry passed in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of the comings and goings of the Hospital Wing. He must have missed a Quidditch match, because at one point he woke up to find the previously empty room full of casualties in Quidditch gear, surrounded by throngs of well-wishers, some resplendent in blue and bronze face-paint and others wrapped in red and gold striped scarves.

Another time, he woke up to see Ron and Hermione at his bedside, bickering over a pile of chocolate frog wrappers.

'Sorry, mate,' Ron said, giving him a bashful, chocolatey grin, 'you just had so many sweets just sitting there helpless on your bedside table. We thought we'd alleviate your burden a little.'

'It's fine,' Harry laughed. He was just glad to see the redhead alive and well, if a little bruised. The trio chatted for hours, with Ron and Hermione regaling him with the fantastical rumours about him that had spread around the school, and Harry filling them in on what had really happened with Quirrell.

'I just can't believe it was him,' Hermione said, looking despondent, 'Quirrell, I mean. I was so sure it was Snape… I really was fooled.'

'He had us all fooled, Mione,' Ron said, patting her shoulder and offering her a peppermint frog, which was politely declined. 'There's no point feeling bad about it.'

'Ron's right, Hermione. Even Dumbledore probably didn't know,' Harry said in an effort to cheer his friend up. He wasn't too sure, though. Dumbledore was a funny man, and Harry had a strange feeling that he knew a lot more about the goings on at Hogwarts than he let on.

'To think,' he continued cheerily, 'when Fred and George enchanted snowballs to follow Quirrell's turban about, they were really actually bonking Voldemort in the face again and again!'

Hermione gave a shocked gasp at his use of the dark wizard's name, but, to Harry's delight, it was soon replaced by mirth as she let out a peal of laughter. It quickly devolved into giggles, and the two boys couldn't help but join in. Soon, the three of them were doubled over, laughing so hard that their stomachs hurt.

Madam Pomfrey bustled over, apparently deciding that it was time for Harry's friend to make their exit.

'Out,' she said, hurrying them away with waving hands, 'shoo! Mr Potter needs his rest if he is to attend the feast tonight.'

'I can really go?' he said, excited. He'd been begging Madam Pomfrey to let him go to the end-of-year feast at every opportunity he got, and he couldn't quite believe that the stern healer had relented.

'Don't look too excited, child,' Madam Pomfrey said. Her sharp tone was dulled by the warm smile on her face. 'You have two more healing potions to take and you must follow my every instruction to the T, with number one being _rest._'

'I will!' Harry said, elated. He turned to Ron and Hermione. 'I'm coming to the feast!'

'We heard, mate,' Ron grinned at him, 'see you there.'

'Yes, see you later, Harry!' Hermione said, as Madam Pomfrey ushered the pair out.

Harry threw his head down on the pillow and tried his best to follow Madam Pomfrey's orders. It was harder than he thought; for the first time in days, his head wasn't throbbing, and he had the feast to look forward to! Sleep evaded him, and the hours dragged on and on, but eventually, the matron reappeared at his bedside with two vials and a pile of his folded school clothes.

'Potions first, then dress,' Madam Pomfrey said. He all but ripped the potions from her hand and necked them in lightning speed, accepting the clothes.

'Uh, do you mind…' Harry said, blushing. Pomfrey nodded, moving backwards. With a wave of her wand, a thick blue curtain appeared around Harry's bed and he changed into his robes.

'As good as new,' the matron commented when he stepped outside. Harry smiled at her.

'You've been my guest far too often this year, Mr Potter,' Pomfrey said. She gave him a motherly smile. 'Mind, whilst I don't want to see any more of you in that bed, I hope you know you're always welcome to pop along for a biscuit.'

'I'll keep that in mind, Madam Pomfrey,' he said, grinning. 'Can I go now?'

'Off with you,' she said. 'You look after yourself, child.'

'I will!' he promised as he sidestepped the matron and charged towards the great oak doors, happiness coursing through him. Freedom at last!

His joy did not last long. No sooner had he flung open the doors than he walked straight into Professor Snape. Literally. He barrelled right into the man's chest and would have knocked him off his feet had he not grasped Harry by the shoulders and steadied both of them.

'Sorry, sir,' he said, embarrassed. He had to stop doing that. Although, to be fair, right outside the Hospital Wing doors was a bit of a stupid place for the professor to stand. What was he doing there, anyway? Maybe Snape was injured. He couldn't have been visiting anyone; Harry had been the sole occupant of the Hospital Wing.

'Watch where you're going, Potter,' Snape snapped. He cast an appraising eye over Harry, his gaze lingering on his bruised temple and bandaged hands. 'I assume you gained permission from Madam Pomfrey to leave the hospital wing?'

'Of course I did!' Harry said, a little offended by the man's suspicious tone.

'I should hope so,' the professor said, eyeing him distrustfully. 'Regarding your little adventure… Dumbledore tells me that he has spoken to you about it already, but I can assure you, Mr Potter, were it in my hands to deal with you…'

Harry gulped. He was definitely glad that it was _not _in Snape's hands.

'We had to do it,' he said defensively.

'Had to?' Snape ridiculed, 'The stone would have been fine without your interference. You know the power of the mirror as well as any; Quirrell had no chance of getting the stone from it alone.'

'I don't know if you noticed, but Quirrell wasn't alone,' Harry interjected. 'He had Voldemort sticking out the back of his head.'

'You just don't understand, do you, boy?' Snape scolded. 'Do you have any idea the amount of danger you put yourself in? Facing a dark wizard alone? You could have been _killed_.'

Harry looked down at the floor. 'Sorry,' he said, quietly. He was confused. He knew Snape was angry at him, that much was clear, but he also thought he heard something oddly like concern in the man's voice, and he couldn't fathom why.

'I just hope for your sake that you do not let this happen again, Mr Potter,' Snape said, sighing wearily. 'Go. Enjoy the feast as best you can. I have kept you from it long enough.'

'I'll try, Professor,' Harry said. 'Have a good summer.'

He moved to walk away, but Snape grasped his arm and pulled him close before he could.

'If those relatives of yours try anything this summer,' Snape said, his voice low and serious, 'and I mean _anything_, you are to send an owl immediately. To Dumbledore or to me, I do not mind. Understood?'

Harry nodded and Snape released him from his grasp, turning on his heel and vanishing up a staircase. Bewildered, Harry shook himself and headed on towards the warm glow of the Great Hall where his friends and food were waiting.

* * *

**That's it for now! With the end of this chapter comes the end of our first quasi-act of the story – the opening act. We've finished setting the scene and are ready for the (hopefully) exciting stuff that's coming in the next chapter! I hope you've enjoyed it so far :)**

**I'm sorry if this chapter felt disjointed at all – I had a lot of ground to cover in one chapter and this was the best I could do!**

**Reviews are always welcome (critical ones included), but if you haven't got time, have a nice day anyway!**


	5. An Unlikely Summer Begins

**I am **_**so **_**sorry about the gap between this chapter and the last. I made the fatal error of leaving my laptop at home when I went on holiday! But here it (finally) is – it's quite a long one, and I hope you enjoy it! Reviews are always welcome (including critical ones) if you have time :)**

* * *

_Chapter 5 – An unlikely summer begins_

The knocking was incessant. Hedwig ruffled her feathers, squeaking in complaint at the relentless noise. Harry reached out a hand to the disgruntled owl.

'It's okay, girl,' he said, scratching the back of her neck, 'they'll go away soon.'

They always did. It had been almost a week since the Dursleys had left to go on a camping trip with some of Vernon's colleagues, and his uncle had left him with strict instructions to stay in the house and answer the door to no one. He had managed to follow these instructions; it was rare that Harry was left to his own devices in summer, with no chores to do and no Dudley to dodge, and he was revelling in it. He didn't want it to end sooner than necessary.

The knocking stopped and Harry gave Hedwig a triumphant smile.

'See!' he said, but his smile turned to a frown when the banging started up again, louder and faster.

'I suppose I better go and see what they want,' he sighed. There was no harm in that; if they asked where his relatives where, he could just pretend they had popped out to the shops and would be back soon. He rolled off his bed, wincing as his bruised ribs came into contact with the mattress, and padded across his room and down the stairs.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry froze, doubtful. What if it was the Dursleys themselves? He was sure they had mentioned that they would be returning yesterday. If Uncle Vernon had lost his keys and Harry had kept him waiting at the door for as long as he had… he didn't want to imagine how much hot water he would be in.

If it really was Uncle Vernon, though, there would be a lot more shouting and raging, Harry reassured himself. Now that he was here, he could see that there was only one figure standing behind the frosted glass, so it couldn't possibly be them. Tentatively, he stepped forward and pulled open the front door.

'You've got some nerve to keep me waiting like that, boy,' Snape said, no real bite in his voice.

Harry stared at the man, aghast. This wasn't right; Snape belonged at Hogwarts, swooping around the dungeons, not here in Surrey. Yet there he was, stood on Harry's doorstep, wearing a dark shirt and pressed trousers and holding in his hand what looked suspiciously like a fedora.

'Are you going to stand there gaping at me forever or do I get the honour of coming in?'

'Um, yeah- I mean, yes, sir, come in,' Harry stuttered, stepping aside for the professor, who strode past him into the hallway and dropped his hat on the console table. Harry pushed the door shut behind the man, reaching up to slide the bolt across the top, careful not to overextend his injured ribs. When he turned back around, Snape was staring at him with a disapproving look on his face.

'You're hurt.'

'I am not,' Harry denied.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Quick as a whip, he plucked an apple from the fruit bowl on the table and hurled it at the mirror next to Harry's head. 'Catch.'

Harry's seeker reflexes kicked in in an instant and he threw his hand out, stopping the apple an inch from the mirror. Pain tore down his left side at the sudden movement and he couldn't keep from wincing. Chagrined, he put the apple down and looked up sheepishly at the Potions Master.

'It's nothing,' he said, trying his best to ignore the ache in his side.

'It does not look like nothing,' Snape said, folding his arms. 'I said to send an owl.'

'I tried,' Harry objected, 'I really did! I went straight for Hedwig the first time it happened, but my uncle saw, and he got there first. He locked her up in my old room for a whole week! She's only out now because I found where he kept the key.'

'Your old bedroom had a lock on the outside?' Snape said, frowning.

'Well, yeah, lots of cupboards do.'

The man's frown deepened. He looked hard at Harry and sighed.

'We will discuss this at another time,' he said. 'There is something else we must deal with now.'

Harry's stomach turned. Whatever it was that Snape wanted to deal with, it must be serious for him to deem it necessary to come all the way to Little Whinging.

'Can I get you a drink first?' he asked. 'I just ran out of apple juice but there's some orange squash, or Ribena, if you prefer.'

Harry was stalling, and judging by Snape's knowing look, it wasn't going to work.

'As much as I am tempted by that insidiously sugary muggle concoction, I must refuse your offer,' Snape replied. 'It is best to get this over with. Is there somewhere we can sit?'

Harry nodded towards the living room and Snape peered in.

'That will do,' he said, stepping into the room and seating himself in the armchair nearest the fireplace – Vernon's chair. There was something very jarring about seeing the poised Potions professor sitting cross-legged where his uncle was usually slouched, shouting commands and balancing a plate of chips on his belly.

'Sit down, Potter,' Snape said, pulling Harry from his thoughts. He did not sound angry, but there was no mistaking his words as an order, so Harry sat on the sofa nearest the man.

'It has fallen to me to deliver some difficult news to you,' Snape continued, his voice eerily gentle. 'I am aware that my reputation is not one for compassion, but I want you to know that you have my sympathy.'

Harry's heart sank; what could have happened that was so bad that he had the dour professor's sympathy?

'I apologise that it is I that must bear this news,' Snape carried on. 'Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore are tied up in ministry affairs, and the Weasley congregation are in Scotland. I can understand if you would rather wait for-'

'Please, sir, can you just tell me?' Harry interrupted, anxiety rising in his chest. Snape raised an eyebrow but did not look irritated. Instead, there was only pity in his eyes.

'Very well,' he said, 'there was an accident-'

'At Hogwarts?' Fear gripped Harry. 'Is anyone hurt? Can we still go back to school next year?'

'Not at Hogwarts.' Snape paused. 'A _car_ accident, Potter. Involving your relatives. It was a single-track road, late at night and wet from rain; they came off the road and hit a tree. Your cousin, Dudley, appears to be recovering, but your aunt and uncle… I'm afraid they died on impact.'

Snape's words hit Harry like a bullet. He did not love the Dursleys, he never had, but they were the closest thing he had ever had to family. Now they were gone.

He searched desperately for some idea of what to think, how to feel, but there was nothing. Only a queer sort of emptiness; a numbness that stemmed from the pit of his stomach and reached the tips of his fingers and toes, rendering him immune to all feeling. He felt oddly detached; it was as if someone had severed his link to reality, leaving him floating inside himself, there but not there. He could see Snape's mouth moving but could hear no words.

Suddenly, Snape's face was looming in front of his own. The man took him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shake.

'Look at me, Potter.' Harry raised his eyes to meet the onyx gaze. 'Speak to me, boy. I know it is hard to process, but I need to know how you are feeling.'

How was he feeling? Harry wasn't sure that he knew himself.

'It's funny, you know,' he said eventually, a small frown creasing his forehead. 'They always told me my mum and dad died in a car crash.'

* * *

Potter stared at him with searching eyes. Severus did not respond; he was at a loss for words.

It was not that he did not understand the boy's situation; he could sympathise with Potter absolutely. There had been no love lost between Severus and his own father. Tobias Snape was a bully, a cruel man who had rarely seen eye to eye with his son, yet when he had died Severus had not known how to feel. No, he could imagine exactly what Potter was going through.

Instead, he did not quite trust himself to respond appropriately. He knew what was expected of him in his capacity as a teacher. His role was simply to deliver the information and provide any necessary guidance. There was a part of him, however, that wanted nothing more than to take the boy in his arms and comfort him. This primal urge was incredibly illogical, and he could not fathom its source, but it was there, nonetheless. It was for fear of it taking over that he did not say a word.

The silence was apparently too much for Potter. The boy crumpled. His shoulders slumped and the empty resignation slipped from his eyes, replaced by complete despondency. Before he realised what he was doing, Severus reached out and pulled the boy to his chest. The hug was awkward and one-armed, but it seemed to be effective.

Severus could not say for how long they remained in that position, his arm anchored around Potter's shoulders whilst the child sobbed into his chest, but it was definitely a while. Finally, Potter calmed down sufficiently to detach himself from Severus, sniffing.

'Sorry,' the boy said, nodding weakly at the wet patch on Severus' shirt.

'No matter.' He pulled his wand from his pocket and vanished the dampness with a single wave.

'What happens now?' Potter asked.

'There will be a funeral soon,' Severus said, 'arrangements can be made for you to go, if you would like to.'

Potter shook his head.

'Don't want to,' he said. Severus did not blame him. 'I mean where will I live now? Here by myself?'

Severus wanted to scold the boy for being so ridiculous. The thought of him living alone was laughable – he was barely 12 years old! He stopped himself; that was not what Potter needed right now.

'No, you will not,' Severus said. 'There are several options. For one, you could become a ward of the ministry – the responsibility for your care would be transferred to them, and you would be placed with a guardian or family that they deem appropriate.'

Potter shook his head immediately.

'I don't want to live with a random family.'

'That is understandable.'

'Could I stay with Ron instead?' Potter asked. 'His mum always offers. I don't think she'd mind.'

'Unfortunately not,' Severus replied. 'A family must have sufficient funds to legally take in another child, and with the sizeable brood that the Weasleys already have… well, they do not.'

'Oh,' Potter said, deflated. 'Where am I going to live, then? With Dudley?'

'Your cousin is going to live with his paternal aunt, Margaret Dursley. As you are not blood-related, there are no benefits to you living with her, but if you so desire, it can possibly be arranged-'

'No!' Potter interjected, visibly shuddering. 'I can't stay with Marge! She hates me more than Uncle Vernon does- I mean, did.'

'Very well,' Severus said. 'There is one other option. Whilst you are a student at Hogwarts, the school acts in loco parentis. This opens up a sort of legal loophole; if a teacher is willing to take you into their care, they can.'

'But who would take me in? Dumbledore?'

'No. The headmaster is far too busy,' Severus said. He paused, taking a deep breath. 'If you so chose, you would be coming to live with me.'

Potter's jaw dropped. The boy gaped at him with an expression that Severus could only assume to be utmost horror. Severus cursed himself – of course Potter would not want to stay with him; the question hadn't even been worth asking. Still, he could not help feeling like a child who had just been rejected by another child on the playground.

He was about to dismiss the idea when Potter said in a quiet voice, 'I think I wouldn't mind that.'

Severus choked back his surprise and nodded.

'Gather your belongings, then' he said, 'we may as well be off.'

'Now?' The boy appeared shocked.

'Now,' Severus repeated.

* * *

Harry pushed himself up from the sofa, not quite sure what to think of the situation. Not ten minutes ago, he had been lying on his bed, flicking through a textbook and trying not to think about the prospect of another month at Privet Drive, and now, he was packing up his things to go to Snape's house.

Did Snape even have a house? Harry had always imagined him as a permanent feature of Hogwarts' dingy dungeons. The idea of spending the rest of the summer locked up in the bowels of the castle was almost less appealing than staying at Privet Drive had been. Only almost, though.

Packing up his stuff did not take a very long time. Most of his belongings were still bundled up in the trunk that he had neglected to unpack since school had ended, and the rest of his things fitted into one small rucksack. Taking one last look at the empty bedroom, he slung the bag onto his shoulder and grabbed his trunk, heading down the stairs to where Snape waited by the door.

'Ready?' Snape asked.

Harry nodded.

'Good. With me.'

Snape unlocked the door with a wave of his wand and pushed it open, stepping outside. Harry made a move to follow but faltered in the doorway.

'What is it, Potter?' Snape said.

'Can I, erm, say goodbye?' Harry asked, blushing. He knew he was being silly. He braced himself for the professor's ridicule.

To his surprise, Snape simply nodded.

'I will be out here when you are done.'

Harry dropped his backpack on top of his trunk and stepped back inside. Nothing had changed since before Snape arrived, but somehow the house felt a whole lot emptier.

Slowly, he moved through each room, running his hand across countertops and tables. It was a house full of memories; none of them good, but not all of them bad, and they were the only ones he had of his childhood. Saying goodbye to that was not hard, but it was not easy, either.

He paused in front of the mantelpiece and looked up at the pictures. They covered the wall above it, photographs of the three smiling Dursleys in different places, all starkly devoid of Harry. He felt a pang of sympathy for Dudley; he knew what it was like to live without parents, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone, even his ghastly cousin.

Finally, he stepped out into the hallway again. Before he could make it to the front door, a sudden urge seized him, and he pulled open the door to the cupboard under the stairs. The force of the nostalgia that hit him was dizzying; nothing had changed since he had last slept there a year before, except for a few bulging books balanced on his old bed. Curious, Harry flipped one of the books open to the first page. Ah. This was where the photographs with him in were.

He slipped the first photo out of the album and looked at it closer. It was the four of them in front of Hampton Court Palace; Dudley, who couldn't have been more than three, was perched on Vernon's shoulders, his chubby arms wrapped around his father's head. Petunia was standing next to them, gripping Harry's small hand in her own. A weird feeling tugged at his stomach; he couldn't remember her ever doing that. His aunt may have stood by whilst Uncle Vernon battered him for years, but she was his blood, and the only blood of his that he would ever know. Frowning at the tears that were pricking his eyes, he stuffed the photo in the back pocket of his jeans and stepped out of the cupboard, letting the door swing shut behind him for the last time.

* * *

'You could have warned me it would be like that!' Harry said, desperately trying to hold on to the contents of his stomach as the world spun around him.

'And miss out on the fun of watching you wobble about like a toddler on firewhiskey?' Snape said, standing perfectly composed next to Harry. 'The only cure for Apparition sickness is practice. You will get used to it.'

'Not likely,' Harry muttered, shaking himself. His surroundings finally came into focus and he took them in curiously. He and Snape were standing at the end of a long, empty street of near-identical houses. They were all made of the same grey brick and were all slightly worn down by age, but most were well cared for. The place had the feel of an ex-industrial town that was not quite sure what it was anymore. A road sign next to Harry read 'Spinner's End'.

'Come, Potter,' Snape said, taking the handle of Harry's trunk. 'Let us not dawdle. It is best if the neighbours do not see us.'

Harry followed the man to the fourth house on the left. It was no different from the others – a small grey house in a row of small grey houses – except for the ivy climbing up the front, and the dark tinted windows that kept what was inside a mystery.

As they approached the house, the neighbouring front door was flung open and a warm voice called out, 'Toby! Yer back!'

An old lady with tight grey curls and a friendly face stepped out, pulling her dressing gown around her.

'Have you been snooping out your window this whole time, Ida?' Snape said, his eyes kinder than his words. To Harry's surprise, the professor let the woman take him by the shoulders and plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

'An' who's this?' The lady pointed at Harry.

'My charge,' Snape said, sourly.

'Yer charge got a name, Tobes?'

'Why don't you ask him yourself?'

'Well, lad?' The elderly woman asked, smiling at Harry.

Snape looked at him pointedly. Harry, who had been floored by the exchange, pushed the many questions he had out of his mind and pulled himself together.

'I'm Harry,' he said. 'It's nice to meet you, er, Mrs…?'

'Oh, I'm no Mrs, duck,' the lady chuckled, 'aven't been since Gerard popped his clogs in '73. Call me Ida.'

'Nice to meet you, Ida,' Harry said, returning the lady's warm smile. She seemed nice enough, and reminded him slightly of Mrs Figg, who had always been kind to him. It was reassuring to know that whatever waited for him behind the door of Snape's house, he would not be too far away from a friendly face.

'Where've you cropped up from, then, love?' Ida asked, 'Family, are yer?'

'No! I mean, no… erm,' Harry struggled for a reasonable explanation. 'Professor Sna- Toby, that is, he's just looking after me because-'

'As pleasant as it is to see you, Ida, we must be going inside now,' Snape interrupted, frowning at Harry. He gestured to the trunk at their feet. 'We have had a long journey and there are bags to be unpacked.'

'Poor boys, yer must be shattered! Me manners have escaped me!' Ida exclaimed, looking horrified, 'Do forgive me fer keepin' yer so long. Go, get some rest – an' Harry, love, make sure to pop round fer a cuppa sometime soon.'

Before Harry could reply, Snape caught hold of his sleeve and dragged him through the front door and into the house.

'You lied to her,' Harry stated, once the door had swung shut behind them.

'I merely stretched the truth,' Snape replied. 'The journey may not have been long in duration, but it did cover many miles.'

Harry frowned. He was sure that if _he _ever 'stretched the truth' like that, Snape would be furious.

'Still a lie,' he muttered. At Snape's warning glance, he changed the subject. 'Where are we, anyway?'

'Cokeworth. Near Manchester.'

'Is this your house?'

'Yes,' Snape said, turning to hang up his hat. 'It belonged to my parents.'

'Have you lived here all your life? Is that why Ida knows you so well?' Harry asked. 'And why did she keep calling you Toby? Should I call you that too – 'Toby'?'

Snape whirled around, his expression dark.

'Do not _ever _let me hear you say that name again,' he breathed, suddenly very close to Harry's face.

'But Ida-'

'_Never_,' Snape growled, 'do you hear me, Potter?'

Harry nodded hurriedly. He had forgotten how terrifying the man could be when he wanted to.

'Sorry,' he managed quietly.

Seemingly satisfied, Snape stood and pulled out his wand. Harry braced himself, sure that the man was about to conjure some instrument of torture, but instead he simply vanished Harry's bags and Hedwig's cage.

'That saves us carrying them up the stairs,' Snape said. 'You will find them in your bedroom.'

'My bedroom?' Harry repeated, surprised. 'I get a room to myself?'

'Well, you aren't sharing mine,' Snape said, looking at him as if the question was absurd. 'Don't be foolish, Potter. Where else would you sleep? On the floor?'

Harry shrugged. He thought about the previous summer, when Uncle Vernon had taken away his bed for two weeks after Harry had accidentally vanished the cat's fur. The idea of Snape making him sleep on the floor hadn't seemed to unreasonable in comparison; he was an unwelcome visitor in the man's home, after all.

'Try to exercise some thought before you speak,' Snape said. 'Follow me. I will show you my house and then you may unpack before tea.'

Harry followed Snape through the hallway into the kitchen, shocked by how homely it felt. It was meticulously clean and ordered, but there was an oddly cosy feel to it, from the scrubbed mustard tiles to the different-sized pots and pans that hung on the wall. A small oak table sat in the centre with two chairs either side.

Adjoined to the kitchen was the living room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, overflowing with books and artefacts, but the room itself was simply furnished; a sofa and an armchair, both draped with cable-knit throws, sat around a plain brick fireplace.

Snape gestured to a door at the far end of the living room. 'Through there is my office,' he said. 'You will not enter unless you have my express permission, and you will most certainly never pass through the trapdoor which lies within it.'

'What's through the trapdoor?' Harry asked, curious.

'Nothing of your concern.'

Harry brushed off the brusque answer. He wasn't sure he even wanted to know what Snape kept underneath his office.

'What's through there?' he asked instead, pointing to a door at the back of the kitchen.

'The garden. You will exercise there in the mornings and help with its care as part of your chores.'

'Exercise?' Harry repeated, incredulous. 'Do you mean flying?'

'No, Potter, I mean _real _exercise. Running. Perhaps it will teach you some discipline.'

'Oh,' Harry said, disappointed. This was looking more and more like it was going to be a very long summer.

* * *

Harry flopped back onto the bed and looked up at the gabled ceiling, bathed in warm light from the bedside lamp. The bedroom was the first place he had felt properly at ease; Snape's house was admittedly oddly normal, but it was still undeniably Snape's. He wasn't sure that he would ever feel comfortable in the cold professor's home.

This room was different, though. It was an attic room, and the ladder that separated it from the rest of the house put some welcome distance between him and Snape. The furniture was simple and practical, and the only decoration was a photo of his mum and dad that Harry had put on the bedside table. It may have been Snape's house, but the bedroom felt more like Harry's own space than his room at Privet Drive ever had. And it wasn't a cupboard, which was a positive.

Harry's eyes widened as he realised that he had no idea how long he had been lying there. Snape had given him half an hour to unpack before dinner, and he didn't want to get on the wrong side of the man so soon. He vaulted off the bed and sped down the ladder, pelting downstairs to the kitchen.

'Thank goodness you made it in one piece, Potter,' Snape said, leaning over the table as he served rice into two bowls. 'I could have sworn a herd of elephants just descended the stairs.'

'Um, sorry,' Harry blushed. 'I wasn't sure what time it was.'

'That is no excuse for mistreating my staircase. Sit.'

Harry sat. He was certain he would never get used to the sight of Snape in muggle clothing. The man had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and if it weren't for the dark locks of greasy hair that fell in front of his eyes as he spooned out the casserole, the whole scene would have been jarringly domestic.

The food looked surprisingly good. It was simple, but smelt nice, and was a far bigger portion than the Dursleys would have given him.

'Are you waiting for my permission to eat, Potter?' Snape said snidely. Harry blushed again, shaking his head. He realised that, subconsciously, that was exactly what he had been doing.

'Then do not let your food get cold,' Snape continued, 'unless you require some instruction on how to use a knife and fork?'

'I know how to eat!' Harry protested, surprising himself with the ferocity of his tone.

Snape raised his eyebrows but said nothing, instead pinning Harry with a steady gaze.

'Then please, do so.'

They ate in silence. Harry's mind was full of questions, but he kept a lid on it so as not to give Snape the satisfaction of having reason to throw another snide comment his way. It wasn't easy; Snape had hardly filled him in on how their living arrangement was going to work, and Harry struggled to bite back the whats and whens and hows that were buzzing around his brain.

It was Snape who finally broke the silence. 'Potter, you are practically vibrating with nervous energy. As much as I am enjoying your silence, and frankly wish you would exhibit it more often during my lessons, for my own sanity, _please_ say whatever it is that you have been so wanting to say for the last twenty minutes.'

'Sorry,' Harry said, surprised that Snape had read him so easily. 'I just… I thought I might ask you a few questions about how all…' he paused, gesturing to the house around them, 'you know, how all _this _is going to work. If that's alright.'

Snape nodded. 'Go on.'

'It's not going to be like school, is it? With a timetable, and lessons, and stuff?' he asked. 'Because I know you're a teacher but it _is _the summer holidays.'

'Heavens no, Potter,' Snape said, looking mildly affronted at the idea. 'The last thing I want is to spend my summer teaching _you_.'

Harry could not have been more relieved. His mind had conjured an awful image of him being chained to a cauldron for the entire holiday, a Potions textbook glued to his hand.

'I see no harm in having some structure to your day, though,' Snape carried on. 'You will rise and exercise at the same time each day, and the rest of your morning will be occupied by chores.'

'What kind of chores?' Harry asked, curious.

'Whatever I see fit,' Snape said. 'The house is old and tired enough that there is always something to do. You can expect to find yourself washing dishes, hoovering, polishing the banisters or tending to the garden.'

'Couldn't you do all that more quickly with magic?'

'Yes. I could.'

Harry frowned but said nothing.

'Your afternoons are your own,' Snape continued. 'You may entertain yourself however you please, although I would recommend getting a head start on next year's school content.'

'Can I fly?' Harry asked excitedly, 'if there's enough space outside?'

'_May_ you fly,' Snape corrected, 'and for now, no. Show me that you can behave yourself and we can reconsider.'

Harry had to bite his lip to stop from pouting. He had asked a simple question, yet Snape was talking to him as if he was a petulant child.

'Fine,' he muttered darkly, staring into the remnants of his rice.

'Not a good start, Potter,' Snape said, his tone hard. 'Whether you believe it now or not, you will find me to be a very fair man. Flying is a privilege that you must earn, and you will not do so by speaking to me in that tone.'

Snape placed his cutlery in the centre of his dish and leant back in his chair. 'You asked if this arrangement would be like school, and in the respect we have discussed, no it will not,' he said, 'I will, however, expect the same standard of behaviour as when we are at Hogwarts. And you can expect the same consequences if you do not meet that standard.'

That caught Harry's attention. He looked up, meeting Snape's steady gaze.

'I am happy to be lenient today, Potter, as I am aware it has not been an easy day for you,' the professor continued, 'but know this; I do not tolerate lying, disobedience, foul attitude, or putting yourself in danger. Should you do any of these things, you will find my… intolerance to be eminently clear. Am I understood?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said quietly.

'Good. Have you got any further questions?'

'Can I tell Ron and Hermione?'

'You may tell your friends that you are no longer at your relatives' house, yes,' Snape said, 'but for now, I think it is best that you refrain from giving them your exact location in any letters you send. Do not mention me.'

'Okay,' Harry said, wracking his brain for anything else he had to ask. 'Oh! And what are you going to tell Ida? Or anyone else that sees me and asks who I am?'

'We will say you are my godson and leave it at that. Simple lies are far easier to maintain.'

'Alright,' Harry said. That worked for him – at least he didn't have to say he was related to Snape. 'And, uh… this thing- I mean, our arrangement…' Harry stumbled over how to phrase his final question.

'Use your words, Potter.'

Harry took a deep breath and asked, 'Me staying with you – is it forever?'

'Until a more suitable arrangement is found,' Snape replied tersely.

Harry wasn't quite sure what answer he was hoping for, and he certainly didn't know what to make of Snape's, so he simply nodded.

'Are you done?' Snape asked, standing.

'With my questions?'

'With your food.'

'Oh,' Harry said, 'yeah.'

'Custom is to place your knife and fork together on the centre of your plate when you have finished eating,' Snape commented, reaching for Harry's bowl and stacking it on top of his own. 'Go and get ready for bed and wait for me to come up. I will wash the dishes tonight.'

'Bed!' Harry objected, indignant, 'it's barely past-' he paused, realising he had no idea what the time was. 'I mean, it's not even late! I'm 12 years old!'

'I am fully aware of your age, boy,' Snape said, irritation clear in his voice. He tapped his watch. 'It is quarter past nine – by the time you have got ready and I have healed your ribs, it will be a more than appropriate time for you to go to sleep. Do as I tell you.'

'_Fine_, but I promise, my ribs are barely-'

'_Potter._'

'I'm going!'

* * *

For someone who seemed awfully concerned about Harry getting to sleep early, Snape was taking his time to come upstairs. By the time Snape finally ascended the ladder to Harry's room, balancing a black box and two vials in one hand, Harry had flipped through Hagrid's photo album twice and counted every single spider in the room (there were nine and a half).

'What's that?' Harry asked, pointing to the small black box. Snape ignored the question.

'Take your shirt off,' he ordered.

Harry balked. 'Do I have to? Can't you just, you know, wave your wand and sort it out without me doing that?'

'It's for your own good, Potter,' Snape said, his voice slightly more gentle. 'Through clothes, I may as well be working blind. If you really must object to removing your top, I can try my best, but I cannot promise you will feel any difference.'

'No, it's fine.' Harry sighed. _Don't be a baby. _Gritting his teeth, he pulled off his pyjama top.

To give Snape credit, he didn't react at all. Harry knew his torso wasn't a pretty sight; mottled black and yellow bruises radiated from under his left arm, darkening to a deep purple around his rib cage.

'It's not as bad as it looks,' Harry said. Snape ignored him, unscrewing the two vials.

'This one's for the pain,' he said, pointing to the darker potion, 'and one knits your bones together.' He pushed them into Harry's hands. 'Drink. Pain relief first, bone regrowth second. You do not want to get the order wrong.'

Harry drank them quickly, grimacing at the vile taste.

'Lean forward,' Snape directed, pulling out his wand. Carefully and meticulously, he worked his way across Harry's side, tapping with his wand and muttering incantations. Slowly but surely, the throbbing pain in his chest lessened to a dull ache, and then barely above a murmur, before disappearing completely.

Snape didn't stop at his ribs; steadily, almost rhythmically, he moved across the whole of Harry's back, finding old aches and pains that he had forgotten he carried. Tension that he was not even aware of melted with ease away from his shoulders. When Snape was finally done, Harry felt more relaxed and pain-free than he could ever remember being.

'Thanks,' he said, as he pulled on his top. At the lack of a response, he looked to Snape, who was staring at him, his expression unreadable.

'A child should not have to bear that much pain,' the professor said, his voice low.

'I'm not a child,' Harry said, but for once, it didn't feel like Snape was taking a dig at him. 'It's fine, sir, it doesn't hurt anymore.'

Snape levelled him with a hard gaze, as if he was trying to discern whether Harry was lying or not. Finally, he gave a single nod and reached for the black box on the bed next to him, passing it to Harry.

'All this means is that if you are late in the future, there will be consequences.'

If Snape had to pick a favourite word, Harry thought, it would probably be consequences. It seemed to make up half of the man's vocabulary. Tentatively, he accepted the box and lifted the lid.

Inside was a watch. The design was simple, a silver face and a plain black leather strap, but it appeared to be well-made. Harry was at a loss for words; he had never received anything like it, nor from anyone who he was so sure despised him so much.

'Let me be clear, this is no gift. You are not indebted to me, nor am I showering you with presents,' Snape said, talking oddly quickly. It was as if he was trying to fill Harry's silence. 'It is purely functional – a practical measure to ensure that you-'

'Thank you,' Harry cut in.

To his surprise, Snape didn't scold him for interrupting. Instead, he simply said, with what sounded oddly like a measure of relief, 'You are welcome.'

With that, Snape collected the empty vials in his hand and stood.

'I will wake you in the morning,' he said, striding towards the ladder. 'Goodnight, Potter.'

'Night,' Harry said as Snape disappeared downstairs. He took off his glasses and switched off the light, trying his best to feel sleepy.

Try as he might, sleep evaded him. His body may have been the most relaxed it had been in a long time, but his mind was far from it. The events of the day had been beyond unexpected and despite Snape's surprising patience when it came to answering his questions, Harry was left full of uncertainty.

Sighing, he rolled over, trying to think about something else. The watch glinted silver in the darkness where he had left it on his bedside table, the second hand ticking round steadily, hypnotic. Harry tried to focus on its sound, and slowly, the soporific ticking got louder and louder until it drowned out all else. Before long, his eyelids began to droop, and he fell into a deep sleep, the steady ticking of the watch the last thing he heard.

* * *

**There we go! It's not perfect but it's got us onto the next part of the story and I really did enjoy writing it **** It's my longest chapter so far, so I really hope it wasn't as soporific as Snape's watch!**

**I can promise that my next update will be much speedier – I'm already writing the next chapter and I'm not going on any laptop-free holidays in the next few days (what an idiot lol).**

**Thank you so much for reading and for sticking with me. If you do get a chance, please do review, as it still means a great deal. Have a good day!**


	6. An Unexpected Visitor

**Hello! Here's the next chapter :) ****it's a gentle look at Harry's first day at Spinner's End (and a little more) so it's a bit slower than the other chapters, but I hope you enjoy it! **

**Thank you so much for the reviews – they are, as always, massively appreciated!**

* * *

_Chapter 6 – An Unexpected Visitor _

Snape was a gardener, Harry noted with wonder, and not the Professor Sprout type of magical gardener, either; the normal muggle type! As Harry followed the man down the winding cobbled path through the garden, he recognised many of the plants as ones he'd seen in Petunia's garden, and none of them had teeth or claws or looked like they would grab you if you got too close.

'Did you grow all of this yourself?' he asked, pausing to marvel at the herbs and produce that crowded the garden.

'No, Potter, I happen to have a case of green-fingered garden gnomes,' Snape snapped, his pace not slowing. Harry stumbled to catch up with him, noting that the grouchy professor was _not_ a morning person.

They followed the path to an old iron gate at the end of the garden, which Snape pushed open and stepped through. Harry followed him, surprised when the space opened up into a large clearing. It was big, perhaps the size of a muggle football pitch, and was surrounded on all sides by trees. He couldn't help but think that it would be perfect for flying in.

'Is this all yours?' he asked.

Snape nodded. 'It used to be an old mill. I purchased the land when it… became disused a long time ago.'

'If it's part of your garden,' Harry tried, hopeful, 'then no muggles would be around to see me-'

'You know my stance on flying, Potter,' Snape cut in. 'A word of advice - pestering me about it will not change my mind any more quickly.'

Harry tried not to look too dejected.

'Have you ever run before?' Snape asked.

'Not out of choice.'

'I see. Do not be tempted to start off too quickly. You must pace yourself or you will burn out,' Snape said. 'Fifteen laps. Follow the perimeter – no cutting corners, except the far-left. You stay away from there.'

Curious, Harry glanced over to the far-left corner. It looked as thick with foliage as any of the others.

'Why?' he asked.

Snape ignored the question, pulling out a copy of the Daily Prophet and sitting down on a bench. 'Off you go.'

Harry set off at a gentle jog. It felt good to have the wind in his hair after so long cooped up inside Privet Drive, even if he wasn't on a broom. He only managed two laps at a steady pace before the urge to go faster took over, and he pushed and pushed until he was running at a near sprint. He could manage it – he was a Quidditch athlete, after all.

Or so he thought. It didn't take long for his legs to tire, and soon Harry was gritting his teeth and hoping desperately that Snape would say he could stop soon.

'Four more laps, Potter,' Snape said as Harry passed by, not looking up from the newspaper. Harry frowned at the smugness in the man's voice. His chest was burning, and his breaths were coming faster and heavier, but he didn't slow down; he couldn't give Snape the satisfaction.

Finally, he reached fifteen laps and came to a stop in front of Snape, trying to control his breathing. The professor slowly folded his paper and looked up at Harry.

'Perhaps tomorrow you will heed my advice and choose a more suitable pace,' he said, standing.

'I tried!' Harry protested.

'You most certainly did not.'

Harry looked at the floor. He supposed Snape was right.

'It is a matter of forethought,' Snape continued, 'You must learn to think ahead and use the resources at your disposal prudently. Until you have the self-discipline to do that of your own accord, perhaps take my advice more seriously, yes?'

Harry nodded.

'Good. We are done here. Go on,' Snape nodded to the gate, 'go and have a shower. Be downstairs for breakfast in twenty minutes.'

Breakfast was a similar affair to dinner. The food was simple but good; Harry had scrambled eggs with toast slathered in apricot jam, and Snape had a bowl of porridge. The two of them ate in relative silence, other than Snape grumbling 'Would you like any toast with that jam?' in objection to Harry's topping choice.

After they were done, Snape led Harry out into the back garden once again.

'You will spend your morning weeding the cabbage patch,' Snape said. 'Do you need me to show you how to do it?'

'I don't think so,' Harry said. 'I used to weed my aunt's flower beds.'

'Very well. Show me.'

Harry knelt down by the cabbage patch, feeling very self-conscious under Snape's critical gaze. Tentatively, he grasped a weed in his hand and went to tug it out of the soil.

'_Stop!' _Snape all but shouted. Harry jumped away from the cabbage patch, alarmed; Snape rarely raised his voice, if ever. 'Merlin, Potter, are you _trying _to murder my cabbages? There is no need for such brutality.'

Blimey, Harry thought, the man really was protective of his vegetables.

'Sorry,' he said sheepishly, 'I suppose my aunt never really showed me how.'

Snape sighed and rolled up the right sleeve of his shirt. With practised ease, he reached down and gripped the weed lightly at the base of the stem, gently working it out of the soil.

'The cabbage plants are young - they have shallow roots,' Snape said, tossing the weed into a metal bucket, 'you must be careful so as not to damage them. Take it slowly. Try again.'

Harry knelt down, trying to mimic exactly what Snape did. He took the weed between his thumb and forefinger, twisting and pulling it out as carefully as he could. It took twice as long as Snape, but eventually he had the whole weed out in his hand, roots intact, leaving the soil around it barely disturbed.

'Look, Snape!' he said gleefully, brandishing the weed. The man looked up from the rhubarb leaves he was inspecting. 'Look, I did it!'

Snape cast an appraising eye over Harry's work.

'Your technique is… more than passable,' Snape said reluctantly, before frowning. 'You cannot address me like that.'

'You call me Potter,' Harry pointed out.

'That is different. I am your _teacher_.'

'Oh, sorry,' Harry said, looking around himself in mock surprise, 'I didn't realise we were at Hogwarts.'

Snape shot him a look and stalked away, muttering angrily. Harry couldn't quite make out what he was saying but he definitely heard the words 'infuriating brat'. He grinned into the cabbages. Snape was strict and stern, a stickler for manners, but Harry was finding that the man had a surprising tolerance for harmless cheek. More often than not, he had a retort of his own to fire straight back.

Pensive, Harry moved on to the next weed. Now he had the technique mastered, he managed to free it from the soil a lot of more quickly, and he found himself almost enjoying it. As he moved from weed to weed, it was satisfying to see the patch of tidy, weed-free earth grow bigger and bigger around the cabbages at the work of his own hands. It felt as though barely any time had passed before Harry was done, but his watch said otherwise. The silver hands read 12:19 – he had been weeding for more than three hours!

Harry stood, brushing the dirt off his trousers. He picked up the bucket of weeds and placed it by the back door. As he was about to step inside a voice barked, 'Stop!'.

Harry froze in the doorway, looking up questioningly to where Snape stood, arms crossed, on the other side of the kitchen.

'You're about to trail mud all over my kitchen tiles. Shoes off.'

Harry obliged, kicking his trainers off. At Snape's glare, he picked them up and deposited them neatly by the door.

The man nodded his approval. 'Go and have a shower,' he said. 'We will eat when you are done.'

'But I just had a shower this morning!' Harry objected.

'Yes, and now you are covered in dirt,' Snape replied. 'If you cannot wash yourself, I am more than happy to assist. I know a wonderful 'Mother's best tub-standard scrub' charm from when my godson was a toddler-'

'Nope. No way,' Harry said, halfway up the stairs before Snape could finish his sentence.

When he came back down, Snape had laid the table for lunch. Harry couldn't help his stomach rumbling at the sight of the food – he never ate this well outside of Hogwarts. Snape had already started serving himself, so Harry sat down and joined him, filling his plate with food.

'Thanks,' Harry said around a mouthful of quiche, 'this is really good.'

Snape raised an eyebrow. 'I am glad you appreciate the food, Potter, although perhaps you could show your appreciation with a little more decorum.'

'Sorry,' Harry said, swallowing before he continued. 'Did you make it?'

'Not the quiche, no,' Snape said. 'It is from the baker.'

'A muggle baker?' Harry asked, astonished.

'Yes. The wizarding world hasn't quite caught onto quiche yet.'

'Oh.' Not 24 hours ago, Harry couldn't have imagined Snape waltzing into a muggle bakery and asking for quiche in his wildest of dreams. After a night in the professor's house, though, he found it slightly less improbable. The swooping bat of the dungeons was far in his mind's eye from the man in the dark grey shirt who sat in front of him, spooning salad onto his plate.

'Why do you wear muggle clothes?' Harry asked him. Snape looked surprised by the question, as if it caught him slightly off-guard.

'My father was a muggle,' he said, a strange tightness to his voice. 'It's something I have always done in my home.'

'But why not at school?' Harry asked, curious, 'When you aren't teaching? Professor Burbage does - so do lots of other teachers. Why do you only wear muggle clothes at home?'

Snape was silent for a long time.

'You have robes that you wear as your school uniform, yes?' he said finally. Harry nodded. 'And would you wear those robes in your free time? When you are with friends, relaxing?'

'No way,' Harry said immediately.

'Why not?'

'I just wouldn't.' Harry had never really given it much thought. 'I suppose they'd make me feel like I'm meant to be learning, or focusing. I don't think it would feel like free time if I was wearing uniform.'

Snape nodded. 'Precisely. What you wear has a direct impact on how you feel and think,' he said. 'My robes are my uniform. When I wear them, both I and my students know who I am – Professor Snape. In my own house, I am alone-' Snape stopped, looking pointedly at Harry. 'Well, usually alone. There is no need for me to wear robes, and so I do not. Does that answer your question?'

Harry nodded. He hadn't expected Snape to be so candid with him.

'Besides,' the man continued. 'I have a reputation to keep up at Hogwarts.'

'What, and wearing trousers would shatter it?' Harry said.

'Yes.'

'Oh.' Harry thought about it. He did suppose the professor _would_ be less intimidating if he stormed around the dungeons in a pair of sensible trousers instead of his usual black affair. 'I think that's fair enough.'

Harry popped the last bit of quiche into his mouth and placed his knife and fork together in the middle of his plate, waiting for Snape to do the same. They washed the dishes together, and then Snape vanished into his office, saying that he had work to do and giving Harry the all clear to entertain himself however he pleased (within reason).

First, he explored the whole house from top to bottom. His search didn't yield much – the attic, bathroom, and downstairs he had already seen, and he was too scared to more than poke his head into Snape's bedroom. One thing he did notice was that the house was as lacking in photographs of Snape as the Dursleys' had been of Harry. The only photo he saw had been pushed to the back of a shelf, almost hidden behind a small clock. It was of a young couple, an austere-looking stocky man who had his arm around a pallid woman with long black hair. Harry could only assume that they were Snape's parents.

He spent the rest of the afternoon playing wizard chess in his room, only giving up when the chess set beat him for the fourth time. A commotion from outside made him glance out the window – a group of muggle children were playing a ball game down in the street, laughing and shouting as they grappled for control of the ball. Harry sighed. He missed his friends.

He pulled out parchment and a quill and sat at his desk, but it was no use. Ron hadn't written to him all summer, and neither had Hermione; he wasn't sure that they'd want to hear from him at all. His quill hovered over the parchment, unsure of what to say. Finally, he gave up and shoved it back in the draw it had come from.

'Sorry,' he said apologetically to Hedwig, who hooted reproachfully from her perch. 'I'll write to them soon,' he promised half-heartedly, standing from the desk and moving over to the window. Checking that the muggles below had moved out of eyeshot, he threw open the window. 'Go on, girl.'

The snowy owl flapped over to the windowsill, giving his fingers an appreciative nip before swooping off over the rooftops. Harry stayed there long after Hedwig had disappeared into the clouds, his upper body hanging out of the window and his mind far away.

'It's a long way down, Potter. I would not advise it,' a voice said from behind him, jolting Harry out of his thought. He spun around. Snape was leaning against his desk, unimpressed.

'What- Uh, I wasn't-'

'I hope I am correct in assuming you were not ignoring me on purpose,' Snape interrupted. 'I have been calling you for ten minutes.'

'Sorry. I couldn't hear you.'

'Yes, I imagine you could not.' Snape looked bemused between Harry and the open window. 'Well, come along, then. It's time for tea.'

They ate a similar dinner to the night before, which Harry had no qualms with. When they were done clearing up, Snape turned to Harry and said, 'I have some work to do that requires focus. You may occupy yourself quietly – and by that, I mean _please_ refrain from stomping around the house in the manner that you did for an unfortunately large part of the afternoon.'

'I wasn't stomping! I barely made-' Harry stopped when he realised he was talking to Snape's closed office door.

Entertaining himself quietly was harder than it seemed. He kicked an old muggle football around the garden for a bit, but it soon got too dark to see and it wasn't as fun as Quidditch anyway. His room was hopelessly devoid of inspiration, so not forty minutes after Snape had left him, Harry found himself downstairs in the living room, staring at the door to Snape's office. It stood ominously closed.

Tentatively, he crossed the room and stood in front of the door. Sure, Snape had seemed to imply that he didn't want to be disturbed, but he hadn't said that outright, and it _was _an emergency; Harry was certain that he would go mad with boredom if he didn't find something to do soon. He reached out a hesitant hand and gave a quiet knock on the door.

'Enter,' came the command from within. Harry pushed open the door and stepped into the office. It was not dissimilar to Snape's private one at Hogwarts, although slightly smaller, and this one had a dark wooden trapdoor in the corner.

'Well, boy, what is it?' Snape asked, not looking up from his work. 'Or have you just come to stand in my doorway to let a draught in?'

'Sorry. It's just that- I tried to think of something, I really did-' Harry struggled to phrase his problem. Eventually, he settled for simply, 'I'm just a bit bored.'

'Bored?' Snape repeated.

'Yeah. I don't know what to do.'

'And you expect me to help how exactly?' Snape asked, still writing intently with the quill in his hand.

That stumped Harry. He had sort of just hoped that Snape would have some kind of magical solution, whether literally or figuratively, to his problem. Unsure of how to answer the man, he instead fixed his gaze on the floor, fiddling with the frayed edge of the rug with his toe.

Snape sighed and dropped his quill, slamming shut the textbook he was writing in.

'Fine,' he said, exasperated. 'I was almost done anyway.' He stood. 'I am going to read – you may choose a book from the living room and join me.'

That sounded alright to Harry. Snape stepped past him out of the office and picked up a heavy volume from the coffee table, sitting down in the armchair whilst Harry browsed the bookshelves. He had never read much as a child, mostly because he couldn't sit still in one place for too long without Dudley finding him, but he did enjoy it. Snape had a vast and varied collection, and he took his time to look through it all; eventually, Harry settled on a book called '_Nineteen Eighty-Four',_ largely because the bright red cover caught his eye.

Snape was sipping a mug of tea when he turned back around, and Harry smiled slightly at the sight of a second mug sitting on the coffee table next to the sofa. He picked up the mug and curled up under a blanket, flipping open the book to the first page.

Soon he was lost in the world of Winston Smith and Big Brother. By the time that Snape announced it was time for bed, Harry was eighty pages in and gripped by the muggle story. He almost protested, but, stifling a yawn, he realised that he was actually quite tired.

'Can I carry on reading it tomorrow?' he asked.

'I don't see why not,' Snape said, closing his own book and standing up. 'Now, _bed, _Potter, and don't dally. I will be up in ten minutes.'

Harry folded over the corner of his page and shut the book, slipping it back onto the shelf as he left the living room. As he padded up the stairs towards his room, he thought about his day. It had been long and tiring, but it definitely hadn't been awful. Maybe, just possibly, this summer _wasn't_ going to be the worst of his life.

* * *

The next few days passed in much the same way. They all followed a similar structure; running, breakfast, chores, lunch, and then Snape would disappear off into his office and Harry would have the afternoon to himself.

At first, Harry had laughed off Snape's suggestions that he look over next year's school material in his free time; the idea that he would spend his summer doing schoolwork was ludicrous. On his third afternoon at Spinner's End, however, Harry found himself pulling out his copy of '_A History of Magic' _in a fit of boredom, and by the time Snape called him down for dinner, he was two hours deep into a fascinating passage about the Third Goblin War. Something about reading the material of his own accord made it infinitely more interesting than when he was forced to listen to Professor Binns spew it from the front of the classroom. Going over a little second-year content each afternoon quickly became part of his daily routine.

By the fourth day in the house, Harry was used to rolling out of bed and pulling on an old T-shirt and shorts to run around the garden – he had almost started to look forward to it. Snape had stopped watching him do his laps, which Harry was a tiny bit proud of. It felt like he had earned a little of the man's trust.

If felt good to get up and get outside as soon as he woke up, even when it was as bleak and drizzly and slick with mud as the garden was on that particular morning. After Harry had finished, he went to step into the kitchen but stopped himself in the doorway, instead peeling off his muddy shoes and placing them on the back step. Snape was already sitting at the table, dressed in his familiar dark robes.

'No chores this morning, Potter,' he said when Harry stepped inside. Harry grinned but Snape's face stopped him in his tracks. 'Before you celebrate – you must stay in your room and not make a sound.'

'What have I done?' Harry asked, frowning. 'If it's about that broken flowerpot, that genuinely wasn't…' He trailed off at Snape's baffled expression. 'Um, ignore what I just said.'

'You have not done anything wrong - to my knowledge, at least,' Snape said. 'I have a visitor coming to the house this morning. They cannot know you are here.'

'Why not? Who is it?'

Snape paused for a moment. 'Narcissa Malfoy.'

Harry's eyebrows shot up. 'Draco's mum?'

'Yes.'

'Why's _she_ coming here?' Harry asked, not trying to hide his disdain.

'Mind your tone. She happens to be a close acquaintance of mine.'

'If she's anything like her prat of a son-'

'_Potter._' Snape's tone was one of undisguised warning. 'Mrs Malfoy is my friend, and Draco is my godson. You _will _watch how you speak about them under my roof.'

'Sorry,' Harry mumbled. He wasn't sure how to feel about the revelation that Snape was Malfoy's godfather; he knew they were only pretending that Harry was Snape's godson for the benefit of the neighbours, but deep down he felt something oddly like a pang of jealousy. 'So that's why Malfoy's your favourite, then?'

'I do not have favourites.'

'Yeah, right.'

'I do not know what has got into you, Potter,' Snape said, 'but if you continue to act like a petulant child, then you can expect to be confined to your room for much longer than just the morning.'

Harry blushed. It wasn't his fault – he'd come in from his run feeling good, and Snape had to ruin it by telling him that he was having Malfoy's mum over for elevenses.

'Go and shower, or else you will not have time for breakfast before she arrives. Quickly.'

Harry did as he was told. As annoyed as he was at the professor, he didn't want to miss out on breakfast. They ate in oppressive silence, and Harry was almost glad when Snape sent him up to his room.

He lay on his bed, kicking his heels and wondering what to do for the entire morning. He heard Snape greet Narcissa as she arrived, but the pair soon moved into the living room and Harry could hear no more than a murmur of their conversation. Sighing, he rolled over onto his back and braced himself for hours of boredom.

The boredom did not last long. Out of nowhere, a shattering _CRACK _filled his room. Harry grabbed his wand and jumped up off the bed to find that he was no longer alone; a strange, human-like creature with pointed ears and giant green eyes was blinking at him from the other side of the room.

'What do you want?' he said, trying to sound brave as he brandished his wand at the creature.

'Dobby means no harm to Harry Potter, sir' it said softly. 'Dobby just wants to help.'

'Who are you?' Harry asked, putting away his wand. The creature seemed friendly enough. 'And _what _are you? How do you know my name?'

'Dobby is a house-elf, sir,' Dobby said. 'Dobby's m-masters, they speak of Harry Potter. Such terrible things.'

'Who are your masters, Dobby?' Harry asked. 'What have they said about me?'

Dobby's eyes widened at Harry's questions and he started to bang his head against Harry's desk.

'Musn't-' _BANG _'say!' _BANG _'Musn't-' _BANG _'say!'

'Stop! Stop it, Dobby,' Harry said, frantically grabbing the house-elf and pulling him away from the desk. 'Alright, don't tell me who they are. Why are you here?'

'Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter cannot go back to Hogwarts.'

'Why not?'

'Dobby cannot say, sir. Harry Potter must listen to Dobby – he _must _not go back to Hogwarts.'

Harry frowned. 'I can't do that, Dobby. Hogwarts is my home.'

Dobby let out a pitiful wail and threw himself at the headboard of Harry's bed with an awful crash. Harry's stomach dropped at the sound of footsteps on the stairs below, and he grappled desperately with the elf, just about managing to bundle him under a sheet before Snape flung open the trapdoor to his room.

'I warned you, Potter-' the man stopped short at the sight of the tangled sheet under Harry's arm. 'What on earth is that?'

'My puppet.'

'Your _puppet?' _Snape repeated incredulously.

'Yes. I'm learning puppetry.'

Snape raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Harry's heat skipped a beat as the sheet let out a muffled squeak of 'Le'me out!'.

'Ventriloquism, in fact.' Harry tried for a charming grin. 'It's going quite well.'

The charming grin failed. Snape reached for the sheet and yanked it off before Harry could react. Dobby took one look at Snape and his eyes widened into saucers.

'Dobby will be leaving now,' the elf whimpered. 'He hopes Harry Potter will follow his advice.'

With that, Dobby disappeared with a crack, leaving Harry alone with a stony-faced Snape.

'Severus?' a woman's voice called from downstairs.

Snape looked between the empty sheet in his hands and Harry, who could only stare back miserably.

'We will deal with this later,' Snape promised ominously, before disappearing down the ladder. Harry could hear him through the floorboards saying, 'Don't be ridiculous, Narcissa, there is nobody up there. A particularly terrible case of Cornish Pixies, that is all.'

* * *

'Allow me to get this clear. You are telling me that the house-elf simply 'appeared' in your bedroom, unsummoned, despite the fact that they are indentured beings with little concept of free will.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said miserably from his seat at the kitchen table.

'And you expect me to believe that you were not fooling around with magic, nor purposefully disobeying me and trying to make my guest aware of your presence?' Snape asked, continuing to pace the tiled floor.

'Yeah,' Harry said quietly. He was doomed.

'Ok.'

Harry's head shot up. 'What?'

'I think you mean 'pardon', Potter,' Snape said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. 'I believe you. I doubt that you have the magical ability to summon an elf bound to another, and I would like to imagine that you would not lie to me anyway.'

'Oh.' Harry hadn't expected that. He felt oddly pleased that the professor trusted him to tell the truth. Curiously, he watched as the man pulled out his wand.

'Let's get to the bottom of this, shall we?' Snape muttered an incantation and clicked his fingers. Suddenly, with a now familiar _CRACK_, Dobby appeared on the kitchen floor.

'How did you-' Harry began, surprised, but was interrupted when the house elf threw himself at Snape's feet and started pleading.

'M-mister Snape, sir, p-pl-_please,_' he wailed pitifully, 'Please, sir, Dobby's m-m-… Dobby's m-m-masters must _not _know Dobby was here.'

'Stand up, Dobby.'

'Please, Mister, they will h-hurt Dobby if t-they knows.' Dobby clutched at the foot of Snape's robes, sobbing. 'M-mister Snape knows t-this, sir.'

Snape sighed impatiently. He reached under the house-elf's arms and lifted him, setting him on his feet with surprising gentleness.

'I am not going to say a word to your family, Dobby,' Snape said. Dobby gasped his relief and went to prostrate himself at the man's feet once more, but Snape stopped him. 'On the condition that you answer my questions.'

The house-elf's eyes widened tentatively. 'Mister Snape knows Dobby cannot disobey his masters.'

'Yes, I do,' Snape said. 'Have they ever expressly forbidden you from answering my questions?'

'No, sir.'

'Then I am sure you can manage to do so.'

Dobby's small brow furrowed but he gave a small nod.

'How did you know that Mr Potter was here?' Snape asked.

'House-elves are knowing these things, sir,' Dobby replied.

'I see. And you came to warn him not to go back to Hogwarts, yes?' Dobby nodded. 'Why?'

'Dobby must not say, sir!' Dobby squeaked, wincing as if he expected to be struck.

Snape looked at Harry, who shrugged. 'I told you. He wouldn't tell me either.'

The professor passed a hand wearily over his face. 'Listen to me, Dobby,' he said. 'Your masters are not here, and they will not know of what you do or say here. I have always been kind to you, have I not?'

Dobby nodded vehemently.

'Then you should believe me when I say that no harm will come to you here,' Snape said. 'Now, I will ask you again – why should Mr Potter not return to Hogwarts?'

Dobby screwed up his face and took a long deep breath. When the little elf opened his eyes again, they were full of grim determination. 'Dobby's masters, they- they meets with big people in big black clothes. Dobby is serving them t-tea and he hears- he hears them saying things about Harry Potter and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy.' The elf paused, his bottom lip quivering.

'What things, Dobby?' Snape pushed.

'They says that Harry Potter will not s-s-survive the year, sir! Dobby hears them talking about dangerous things waiting there for Harry Potter.'

Harry shifted uneasily in his chair. It didn't sound like this school year was going to be any easier than the last.

'Nonsense,' Snape said dismissively. 'Hogwarts is perfectly safe. Even if dangers were to lie within its walls, Mr Potter is under the close watch of those around him – even if he set his mind to it, he would struggle to put himself in harm's way.'

Dobby shook his head furiously. 'No, sir! They says that Harry Potter runs f-free at Hogwarts, sir – that last year Harry Potter f-faced the Dark Lord by himself.'

'Listen-'

'H-how can Harry Potter survive, sir, if he is alone?' Dobby continued, wide-eyed. 'If Harry Potter's friends are not even writing to him, how can they be protecting him at Hogwarts?'

Snape looked at Harry once again, an eyebrow raised. Harry blushed. 'Yeah, erm, it's true. But they're probably busy, or on holiday, or… hang on.' He pushed himself from his chair, anger rising in his chest. 'How do _you _know my friends haven't written to me?'

'Sit down, boy,' Snape ordered. He placed his open hand in front of the elf, who had cowered away from Harry. 'Give them to me.'

Dobby sheepishly pulled a thick stack of letters from his pillowcase and held it out. Snape accepted the stack, dropping it on the table next to him.

'Whatever may have happened last year, believe me, Dobby, Mr Potter is far from alone this year,' Snape assured the house-elf. 'He shall return to Hogwarts, but he will be doing so under my care. I will have my eye on him. Do you understand?'

'Dobby understands, sir.'

'Good. Did you overhear anything about what exactly the danger at Hogwarts is?'

Dobby shook his head.

'Fine,' Snape said. 'Thank you, Dobby. You have my assurances that your family will not hear a word of today. You may go.'

'Thank you, Mister Snape, sir!' Dobby squeaked, flinging himself at Snape's leg. Harry could not contain his grin at how uncomfortable the man looked in the house-elf's embrace. Finally, Dobby let go of the black robes and hopped around the table towards Harry, bowing in front of him. 'Dobby hopes Harry Potter does not die at Hogwarts this year.'

'Um, thanks, Dobby,' Harry said. 'It was nice to meet you.'

'Harry Potter is too kind to Dobby,' the house-elf said, smiling widely. 'He hopes he will be seeing Harry Potter again soon!'

With that, he disappeared with one final _CRACK_.

'I believe these belong to you.' Snape pushed the pile of letters across the table towards Harry.

'Thanks,' Harry said, grinning at the sight of Ron's scrawl on the front of the top envelope. The revelation that his friends had not abandoned him was one that brought immense relief.

'You should have told me that you were not receiving letters.'

'Didn't think they were writing any,' Harry shrugged.

'Really, Potter, I am starting to think you have a genuine deficit of thinking skills,' Snape said. 'You and your little Gryffindor friends are practically joined at the hip - they follow you around like highly committed lost puppies. Only a fool would think they could forget about you simply because it is summer.'

'Yeah, I s'pose,' Harry said. 'Dobby knew your name.'

'He did. I know the family that he serves well.'

'Who are they?'

'I do not see why that is your business.' Snape's tone was sharp.

Harry shrugged. He supposed it didn't really matter anyway.

'Did you mean what you said?' he asked instead.

'You are going to have to be more specific than that.'

'When you said that I'm going back to Hogwarts… you know, under your care,' Harry said. 'I thought this was only for summer.'

'I am your registered guardian and I will continue to be so when the term commences,' Snape said, 'therefore I will continue to fulfil that responsibility when we are at Hogwarts. So yes, I did mean what I said – you most definitely will not be alone. If what Dobby says is true, you will need a firm hand this year more than ever.'

'Oh. Okay.' Harry knew that the prospect of Snape's 'firm hand' should be a grim one, but the idea of the forbidding man watching over him was instead oddly comforting. Whatever was waiting for him at Hogwarts in September, he felt slightly less worried about heading towards it knowing that the Potions Master was at his side.

* * *

**Blimey, that was a bit of a long one! I really do hope you enjoyed it still.**

**I had massive writer's block on this one – I think because there was less action I worried that every little bit I wrote was intensely boring. The final product is a bit better than I had hoped, and I really enjoyed writing the Dobby bits, so I hope that even if it was boring, I hope it was at least bearably so!**

**As always, thank you **_**so **_**much for reading! If you do have a chance to leave a review, please do – it really does mean a lot. If not, have a good day anyway!**

**[Personal note - you may remember way back in one of the first few chapters I mentioned some serious exams that I had to take at school – I finally got the results for those and I did far better than I expected! I'm now off to uni to do a degree that has felt like a pipe dream for the last five years! Wooo!]**


	7. Meeting the Neighbours

**Here's the next chapter! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. I thought it was going to be a short one, but it's funny how these things go and it's turned out to be my longest yet! Enjoy :)**

**Warning – this story contains corporal punishment. If that upsets you, or is simply not your thing, then **_**please **_**do not read any further. Thanks!**

* * *

_Chapter 7 – Meeting the Neighbours_

Harry quickly fell into an easy rhythm, his feet keeping to a steady tempo. He had followed Snape's advice and paced himself each morning, and despite being at Spinner's End for less than a week, running was already coming a lot easier to him.

It did not take long for him to finish the fifteen laps. He stood for a minute in the clearing, stretching out his calves as he listened to the birdsong, and then headed towards the garden gate.

'Been a long time since there were a young lad running round here.'

The sudden voice startled Harry, and he jumped, his hand instinctively reaching for the empty pocket that usually held his wand, but he let it drop when he saw who the words had come from. Ida emerged from the bushes, a walking stick in one hand and a small, extraordinarily overweight dog tucked under the other arm.

'Hi, Ida,' Harry said. 'How are you?'

'I'm alright, duck,' the old lady said, smiling at him. 'Don't mind me, I'm just taking the dog fer a walk.'

Harry looked between Ida's beaming face and the fat little dog snoring lightly in her arms.

'In Snape's garden?' he asked.

'Oh, that old fool don't mind,' she said fondly. 'Well, I'll get out yer hair, Harry. Nice to see you.'

Harry watched the woman totter off across the clearing, processing what she had said.

'Wait!' he called after her.

Ida turned back to face him. 'Yes, dear?'

'Who was the last boy- I mean, did you know Snape when he was young?' Harry asked.

'Why, yes, love, I did.'

'What was he like?'

Ida smiled at him. 'You come round fer a cuppa and I just might tell you.'

With that, she turned around once again and set off.

'But, Ida-' Harry called, 'Wait!'

Ida disappeared into the trees, leaving Harry alone in the clearing and full of questions.

He bounded into the kitchen, scanning the room and spotting Snape seated at the table behind a copy of the Daily Prophet.

'Please can I go for tea with Ida today?' he asked the man. 'Please? I'll do all my chores before, or after, I don't mind, but I'll get them done! _Please_ can I go?'

Snape lowered his newspaper, a perplexed expression on his face that turned into one of resolve when he saw Harry bouncing up and down in the doorway.

'Out,' he ordered.

'What?'

'You heard me,' Snape said. 'Out. Five more laps of the garden.'

'What? But- but, no! I did my fifteen!' Harry protested.

'Which is clearly not sufficient anymore, judging by the energy with which you just assaulted me with those questions. No twelve-year-old boy should be so enthused by the prospect of sipping tea with an octogenarian,' Snape said. 'From now on you will do twenty laps each morning.'

'That's not fair!' Harry objected, dismayed.

'It is perfectly fair.'

Harry pouted but said nothing as he stepped back out into the garden to complete his run. Admittedly, he did feel much calmer once he had finished the five extra laps.

'Are you at least able to pretend that you can converse in a civilised manner now?' Snape asked when he came back inside.

Harry frowned at the sarcastic tone, but bit back a retort and gave a simple 'Yes.' His stomach was rumbling, and he didn't want to give the man reason to send him back outside again before breakfast. He tried again with his request. 'Please may I go for tea with Ida today?'

'You may,' Snape said after some consideration. 'After your chores. Do you remember when I showed you how to deadhead the daylilies?'

Harry nodded.

'Good. Do the same to the garlic chives and polish the banister, and then you may go to Ida's.'

'Thanks!' Harry said, giving the air a little triumphant punch. 'I'll do the best deadheading you've ever seen.

'I do not doubt it,' Snape said, not concealing the amusement in his eyes.

* * *

The morning dragged on longer than any other Harry had spent at the house. He powered through his chores at breakneck speed, but time still seemed to move in slow-motion. After what felt like years, the banister was sufficiently shiny and the garlic chives sufficiently healthy, and Snape finally gave him the all clear to go to Ida's.

As he raised his hand to knock on her front door, Harry was filled with sudden inexplicable apprehension. It was soon quelled when the door was opened to reveal Ida, clad in a fluffy pink dressing gown, smiling warmly at him.

'Harry, love, do come in,' she said. 'We were expecting you.'

'We?' Harry questioned, stepping into her heavily floral corridor.

'Me an' the dog,' Ida said, gesturing to the chihuahua at her feet. 'Goliath, that's his name – my son called him that, thought he were bein' funny. Go on, give him a stroke. He'll nip at your fingers, but that's just him bein' friendly, an' he's not got enough teeth left fer it to hurt.'

Harry knelt down and tentatively reached his hand out to the fat dog. Sure enough, Goliath wriggled around and nipped at his hand, but it tickled more than anything. Laughing, Harry gave the dog's stomach a rub with his other hand.

'I didn't know you had a son,' Harry said, grinning as Goliath's tongue lolled out in pleasure. 'How old is he?'

'Oh, he's not around anymore, love.' Ida said. The grin dropped off Harry's face. 'It's alright. Patrick died a long time ago. There was a fire where he worked – he was long gone before they could put a stop to it.'

'Oh, Ida- I'm so sorry. I didn't know.'

'Nowt to be sorry about, dear,' Ida smiled sadly. 'You forget the pain eventually, an' forgive those that caused it. Paddy will always be the missing piece of my heart, but it ticks along perfectly well. Besides, I've still got plenty of happy memories of the lad.'

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He had always wished he'd had a chance to know his parents before they died, but he couldn't imagine the pain of raising someone, caring for them and loving them, then losing them forever.

'That's enough of that, lad, you didn't come here to hear an old lady talk about her dead son,' Ida said. Harry tried to protest but she shushed him. 'Come into the living room. I've got a teapot going an' I'll fix you a cuppa.'

They sat together on her paisley armchairs and Ida poured two cups of tea, handing one to Harry and picking up the other. She took a long sip and leant back in the armchair.

'So, love,' Ida said, 'you said you wanted to know about your godfather when he were young.'

'Yeah, I, erm, never really saw much of him when I was younger so I don't know lots about him,' Harry said. 'Why do you call him Toby?'

'Why? That's his name, duck!' Ida chuckled. 'Despite whatever fancy title he may go by these days. It never did anyone no harm to remember where they came from.'

'Oh,' Harry said, more perplexed than ever.

'Oh indeed,' Ida repeated, amused. 'What else do you want to know?'

Harry mulled over the question. What _did _he want to know? Living with Snape had only served to further his curiosity about the mysterious Potions Master.

'How long have you know him for?' he asked eventually. 'And what was he like when he was a child – you know, younger than me?'

'I've known the boy all his life, dear. I remember when his parents brought him back from the hospital, just a small bundle of blankets,' Ida said. 'A peculiar couple, they were. Mum was very quiet – Eileen, I think she were called. She didn't leave the house much, but her husband, by God, he were a force of nature!'

She paused to take another sip of her tea.

'I think- well, no, I _know _he clashed with his son – we could hear them through the walls! Toby was always quiet, loved his books, and his pa didn't get on with that. He wanted him to be boisterous like the other boys, play rough and tumble with him, but he never did.'

Ida leant forward to pour herself another cup of tea. Harry watched as she painstakingly selected three cubes of sugar to drop in with a small pair of tongs, willing her to go faster so that she would continue speaking.

'Patrick was only four or five years older than Toby,' she continued finally. 'I babysat the boy a lot, an' Paddy an' him got on, so he always invited Tobes to play football with the other local lads, but he never came out. I remember seeing the boy's little face at that attic window each time the others went out to play – I still don't know what stopped him. He was afraid, I s'pose, though I don't know of what.'

'The attic window?' Harry repeated, surprised. 'Was that his bedroom?'

'Yes, duck, I think so.'

So Snape had put him in the bedroom that had been his own as a child. That was a strange thought.

'He was up there an awful lot of the time,' Ida continued. 'That boy spent far too much of his childhood alone. In fact, the only friend he seemed to have was that ginger girl from the fancy estate. Now, what was her name…'

'Lily?' Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

'Yes, that was it!' Ida's eyes met his questioningly. 'How d'you know that, love? You know her?'

Harry shook his head. 'Lucky guess.'

'A very lucky guess,' Ida said. She raised her eyebrow at him but pushed no further.

Suddenly uneasy, Harry changed the subject. They talked for a while about Ida's husband Gerard, a proud Irishman and army Sergeant who had died on active duty, and then some more about her son Patrick. Harry tried his best to steer the conversation away from himself, but he had ended up having to answer some questions, so by the time that their tea had gone cold and he was saying his farewells, Ida was under the impression that he went to a little-known Scottish boarding school (which was essentially true) and that he wanted to be a fireman when he grew up (which was most definitely not).

Snape's house was quiet when he wandered back inside. The office door was shut, so Harry assumed the man was working. He wolfed down a sandwich alone in the kitchen, then grabbed the tired football from under the sink and headed out the back door.

Kicking the football against the garden wall, Harry was soon lost in thought. He had enjoyed spending time with Ida – she was warm and bubbly, and a very different sort of company to Snape – and she had given him a lot of food for thought. He felt slightly guilty about prying into Snape's personal life, but the man _did _know a lot about Harry, so it was only fair that Harry got to know a little about him, and the professor would never yield that much information of his own accord.

He didn't think he would ask Ida about Snape again, though. He had wanted to know about Snape's childhood simply out of curiosity but had not expected to find such turbulence and isolation there. Those were things that Harry understood well, and his curiosity had been dampened, replaced by a sad pity.

Harry was obviously too lost in thought, because with one careless, massive kick, he walloped the football over Snape's garden wall into the next garden over - the one that didn't belong to Ida. Harry gulped. He hoped the Snape's other neighbours were just as friendly as the elderly lady.

He jogged back into the kitchen, but Snape was nowhere to be seen. He poked his head into the living room to see the office door slightly ajar. He gave it a light knock. No answer.

'Snape?' he called tentatively. At the lack of a reply, he pushed open the door. The office was decidedly Snape-less, but the trapdoor in the corner was propped open.

Harry stared at the open trapdoor. Snape _had _told him not to go down there, but he really did want his ball back, and if Snape was down there anyway, then surely it would be safe to just pop down and ask him if he could go next door and get it. Pushing away his fear, he stepped towards the trapdoor and hesitantly descended the ladder.

It was longer than he had expected, and when Harry eventually dropped to the floor, his eyes widened at the sight of what lay beneath the house. A magnificent Potions laboratory filled the space, with vaulted ceilings and winding corridors lined with ingredients that stretched away in every direction. It was far bigger than the house that sat on top of it – that was magic, Harry supposed.

'Um, Snape?' he called again. No response. Snape must be in another part of the lab, Harry guessed. He would just wait.

In front of him sat a U-shaped table with a plain wooden worktop. It was empty, except for a single cauldron with a light blue flame dancing beneath it. Harry couldn't see its contents from the foot of the ladder, but the smoke rising above it seemed to glitter and dance. He could have sworn it took corporeal shape – a horse galloping here and a wolf howling there. Curious, Harry took a few steps closer to the cauldron.

Up close, he could see the surface of the strange potion. It had a silver, glassy sheen, almost like a mirror, but when Harry leant over the cauldron, he could not see his reflection. Instead, it was like looking into a whirlpool of light and dark, a vortex of colour and emptiness that stretched away into unfathomable depths. Entranced, Harry reached out his hand towards the potion, overcome with desire to touch it.

'_Do not move._' The deadly serious words cut across the Potions lab. Harry froze, his fingers millimetres from the shimmering surface.

'Step back, Potter. _Slowly_. Do not let one drop of that potion touch your skin.'

Harry stepped back, his heart racing. Once he was safely away from the cauldron, he was gripped by the shoulders and whirled around. He found himself face to face with a none too pleased Snape.

'You idiot child! What on earth were you thinking?' the man reprimanded, his eyes blazing. 'You could have _died_, you foolish boy.'

'I-'

'Did you think I expressly forbade you from coming down here on a whim? Or are you still under the impression that you remain above my rules despite being _under my roof_?'

'No! No, it wasn't like that,' Harry protested, trying to ignore the growing knot in his stomach. 'I was just trying to find you. I looked in the rest of the house, but you were down here, so-'

'I was _not_,' Snape interjected sharply. 'If you had bothered to _try _and locate me, you would have found me upstairs. Far from here.'

'Oh,' Harry said weakly.

'Do you know what that potion is?' Snape asked, his tone still harsh.

Harry shook his head.

'It is an igneus bewitcher. One is drawn in by its appearance, but if it is touched, the body is consumed in terrible burning pain. If I had come down _one second _later, you would have been beyond my help.'

Harry's stomach dropped at the thought of what could have been his fate.

'W-why would you make something like that?'

'Academic purposes. Not your concern,' Snape snapped. 'You, however, _are _my concern. I thought I was clear that this was a forbidden space.'

'You were,' Harry said. 'I'm sorry. I really honestly thought you were down here.'

Snape's expression softened slightly. 'Even so, you should not have come down. The harm you could have come to…'

'I know, sir,' Harry said, biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to prevent the tears that were threatening to fall. When did he get so weepy? He didn't usually let words get to him like this. Snape was just making him feel awfully guilty. 'I really am sorry.'

Snape pinned him with a long, hard look, but eventually gave an acknowledging nod. Harry watched in dread as the man pulled out his wand and transfigured a small table into an armless chair.

'Come here.'

Harry stepped miserably towards the man.

'I believe you know exactly what you did wrong,' Snape said. Harry nodded. 'Good. We shall not waste time on lectures.'

In one swift motion, Snape sat on the chair and deposited Harry face-down over his lap. He certainly wasn't wasting time – no sooner had Harry felt the man's hard knees under his torso than the smacks began to fall. Harry's breath caught in his throat at the force of each one, but he screwed up his eyes and held onto his silence.

'Come, Potter,' Snape said firmly, his hand not ceasing to fall, 'your stoicism is admirable, but we both know by now that the tears will come. There is no need for this sorry display. Let go.'

And so he did. The tears did come – quickly and freely. Harry found himself being righted, and to his surprise, he realised it must have been the shortest punishment Snape had ever dealt him.

Blushing, he wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve.

'M'sorry,' he mumbled.

'I know. Look at me, Potter.'

Harry raised his eyes to meet the stern professor's gaze.

'That was for your disobedience,' Snape said. 'I could have been much harsher, but I believe your intentions were honest. I hope I am not wrong. However, if you disobey me again… or put yourself in _half _as much danger as you just did… you will not enjoy the consequences. Is that clear?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said quietly.

'Good.' Snape reached out an arm and for a second, Harry thought he was about to pull him into a hug, but the man settled for a pat on the shoulder. 'Now, go. I have work to do.'

'But, I-'

'Is it important?' Snape cut in.

Harry thought about it. It _felt _important to him, but he wasn't sure Snape would agree, and he didn't want to stay on the man's bad side.

'I s'pose not,' he said.

'Very well. Off with you – I shall be up in time for tea. And _stay out of trouble._'

'Course I will,' Harry assured the man, bounding towards the ladder. By the time he reached the top, the sting in his behind had almost completely faded, but the issue of the missing football still remained. He supposed he would just have to take matters into his own hands.

First, he tried knocking on the neighbour's front door. Snape wouldn't mind that, he had reasoned, because he'd let Harry go to Ida's that morning, and it was essentially the same thing. To his dismay, no one came to the door.

That was how Harry found himself standing at the foot of the garden wall, sizing it up. It looked doable; there was a jutting brick here and a missing stone there that could act as hand- and footholds. The neighbours weren't in and Snape was busy with his potions underground; surely it couldn't hurt to scale the wall, grab his ball, and hop back into Snape's garden.

What Snape doesn't know can't hurt him, Harry assured himself as he reached for the first handhold. The wall was easier to climb than it looked, and he was over the top in no time. He spotted his football underneath a wheelbarrow and hopped over the vegetable patch to grab it.

'What the hell d'you think you're doing, boy?'

Harry froze. A stocky ginger man was standing at the back door of the house, a toddler on his hip and another clinging to his hand. Harry could hear a third child crying inside.

'Um, sorry. I- I came to get my ball,' Harry stuttered. 'I did try knocking but no one answered.'

'Do I look like I've got a free hand to answer the blasted door?' the man growled.

'Erm, no, sir.'

'Darn right, I haven't.' The man sighed, shifting the toddler on his hip. 'Sorry, lad, I don't mean to be a grump. The wife's working an extra shift so I've got all three of them on me hands. Come inside, you can have a biccy and be on your way with that ball - out the front door, this time, instead of over the bloody wall.'

Harry grabbed his football and followed the man inside.

'So, you're Mr Snape's boy, eh? What's he like to have as a godfather?' The man chuckled. 'A bit of a nightmare, I imagine.'

Harry felt oddly defensive. 'He's alright actually, once you get to know him.'

'Oh, I know him, son,' the man said, offering him a biscuit tin. 'Sorry it's a mess in here. I'd like to say you've caught us at a bad time, but I'm afraid it's always bloody like this. The triplets haven't quite mastered the whole 'tidying up' thing yet.'

'It's fine,' Harry said, taking a Jammie Dodger from the tin. He looked around the kitchen. Perhaps it was messy, but it was all homely mess; the floor was full of children's toys and the walls were plastered with clumsy drawings and photographs of the triplets. 'It's really quite nice, actually.'

The man chuckled again. 'You don't have to be kind, lad. The name's Arnie, by the way – Arnie Reid.'

'I'm Harry.'

There was a knock at the door. Arnie turned towards it, raising an eyebrow.

'I'm not expecting anyone.' He sat the child in his arms down at the table and stepped into the hallway, peering through the peephole. 'Ah,' he said, unlocking the door. 'It's for you.'

'Arnold,' Snape said in a clipped voice.

'Toby,' Arnie replied, his tone equally sour.

'It's Severus now.'

'Is it really? Your old dad would be turning in his grave.'

Harry saw Snape's jaw visibly tighten.

'You have no right to speak of my father.'

'Don't I? Not even after what you did to him and my pa?'

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. 'You have _no_ right-' he stopped mid-sentence as he caught sight of Harry behind Arnie.

'Get here. Right now,' he said in a low voice.

Harry moved to follow the order but Arnie put an arm out across the hall, blocking his way.

'Your boy is awfully polite. Don't be too harsh on him on account of me, _Severus_.' Arnie laughed. 'Well, that's a mouthful, isn't it.'

Snape ignored the man, instead finding Harry with his stony gaze.

'To me. Now.'

His tone left no room for negotiation. Harry ducked under Arnie's arm, apologising to the man once more, and stepped out of the front door. It was shut behind them none too gently.

Snape frogmarched Harry back to the house, propelling him into the hallway and slamming the door.

'Must I put you on a lead?' the man snapped. 'First my laboratory, now the Reids' house – I do not like this habit of putting yourself in places that you are not meant to be. I warned you what would happen should you disobey me again-'

'But I _didn't_!' Harry protested.

'Excuse me?'

'I didn't do anything you told me not to do,' Harry said. The colour was rising in his cheeks, but he didn't stop. 'I didn't mean to kick my ball into Arnie's garden. You let me go to Ida's house this morning, so I thought you'd be alright with me just knocking on their door to ask for it back. I wasn't disobeying you.' He opted to omit the tiny detail about climbing over the garden wall.

'Did it not occur to you that the occupants of the house could have been dangerous? Mr Reid could well have been an axe-murderer for all you knew!'

'Erm, no, it didn't, sir,' Harry said, feeling slightly sheepish. Snape glared at him, so he added brightly, 'He wasn't, though!'

'Dunderhead of a boy,' Snape chided. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Harry noticed that the professor's furor had subsided now that they were away from Arnie's house, replaced with what seemed to be weariness. 'Had you asked me first,' the professor continued, 'we would not be in this situation.'

'I tried!' Harry objected. 'I was going to ask you down in the Potions lab, after… you know. You seemed busy, though, and I didn't think you'd think it was important enough to bother you with.'

Harry could have sworn the Snape looked surprised for a second, but the professor soon schooled his features into their usual mask.

'Then I apologise, Potter,' he said. 'I did not mean to discourage you from bringing your problem to me. That is something that you are always welcome to do.'

'Oh,' Harry said, taken aback by the apology. 'I mean, thank you, sir.'

Snape nodded his acknowledgment. 'I simply feared you would spurt some triviality and delay my work. It was not my intention to be so dismissive and it shall not happen again.'

'Hey! I don't spurt trivvy- trivle-' Harry gave up stumbling over the word at the professor's smirk. 'Thanks, sir.'

'You are most welcome. However,' Snape paused, his tone becoming stern once again. Harry's eyes flicked up to meet the hard gaze being levelled at him. 'I am still not impressed by your disappearing act. Imagine my thoughts when I came upstairs to find you gone – for all I knew, you could have been abducted by the Dark Lord himself.'

'I'm sorry,' Harry said, feeling guilty. He hadn't thought about that.

'I should hope so,' Snape said. 'You did not directly disobey me, and I recognise in part that it was my own fault you left the house without asking me, so for now, sorry is good enough. Know this, though – should there be a repeat of your actions, there will be-'

'Consequences. I know.'

'Do not be flippant with me, boy,' Snape warned.

'Sorry, sir,' Harry said, as contritely as possible. 'It really won't happen again.'

Snape looked at him hard. 'Wait here.'

He returned not one minute later with a hefty textbook that he dropped on the kitchen table with a heavy _thunk_.

'Sit,' Snape pointed to the table. Harry sat. 'As it seems that I cannot trust you to entertain yourself sensibly today, for the remainder of the afternoon you will read here. You may leave the table to use the bathroom, but otherwise your nose best be buried in this book. Understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good.' Snape swooped out of the room towards his office, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen. It baffled him how the man could still swoop without his billowing robes. He supposed that a habit so ingrained as Snape's swooping must be hard to shake, regardless of clothing.

Harry glanced at the title of the book that lay in front of him. '_Potent Potions: A Compendium of Magical Draughts'_. He sighed; this was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

_The quantity of Ilgorsi's Intelligence Elixir consumed is not something to be taken lightly, however – a fact discovered by the eponymous inventor himself. Antonio Ilgorsi's hand slipped when adding a dash of the elixir to his morning porridge, and he soon found himself in possession of overwhelming transcendent knowledge. After dictating the meaning of life to the only other present being, his housecat, George, Ilgorsi's brain imploded from the pressure of the infinite enlightenment. He was found by his unsuspecting-_

'Potter! Are you even listening to me?'

'Um, what?' Harry jumped, looking up from the book that had so gripped him. Snape was standing at the head of the table, arms folded. 'No! I mean, yes! I mean, erm… what did you say?'

'I asked whether you had followed my instructions,' Snape said. He glanced at the textbook in Harry's hands. 'Although judging by how much of the book you have read, I would hypothesise that you did.'

'Oh,' Harry said, looking down at the book. He was surprised to see that he was almost halfway through. 'Yeah, I did! It's actually really interesting! Did you know that there's a potion that can write out someone's memories and replace them with…' he tailed off at the wry look the professor was giving him. 'Oh. Of course you did.'

'One tends to pick up these things after _ten years _as a Potions Master,' Snape said drily. 'I will admit that I am ever so slightly impressed with how you got on with that book. I have put it on the extended reading list for second years, but it is really third year material. If only you would show as much interest in Potions in my lessons.'

Harry shrugged. 'The book was interesting.'

'And my teaching is not?'

'It's not that…' Harry paused, trying to figure out how to word it without angering the professor. 'It's just that… you're a bit mean sometimes.'

Snape frowned. 'There is a distinction between meanness and demanding perfection. I do the latter – there is no room for anything but perfection in the art of Potions.'

'But that's not fair,' Harry argued. 'Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, even _you_, I bet. Asking for us to be perfect is just setting us up to let you down.'

'I do not ask for perfection, I ask that you aim for perfection,' Snape said. 'Mistakes are perfectly allowable, if you choose to learn from them and improve.' He frowned again. 'It is resignation to failure and lack of effort that let me down and lead me to anger. Or, what you call 'being mean.''

'But I don't do either of those things and you're still mean to me.'

Snape quirked an eyebrow. 'The number of times that you have given up on a smoking potion and sat back to giggle with your Gryffindor friends would say otherwise, Potter.'

Harry bit his lip. He had no response to that – Snape was right. Potions was hard; it was all too easy to mess up, and it often felt simpler not to try at all.

'You have only just begun your Hogwarts career, however. It is not too late for a change of attitude,' Snape said at Harry's lack of a response. 'Come, I am hungry. Move that book and set the table, I shall make some food.'

Harry did so. Once he had finished laying out the crockery and cutlery, he looked over to where Snape was stirring mince in a pan.

'Can I help?' he asked.

Snape looked at him, surprised, but said, 'The vegetables need dicing – there, on the side.'

Harry picked up a knife from the countertop and started to cut the onion and celery into fine pieces, chattering to Snape about _Potent Potions _as he did so. They continued to talk about potions through dinner, Harry bringing up the ones that he had found most interesting and Snape telling him facts and brewing details that he had picked up over the years about them. By the time tea was over, Harry realised that it must have been the longest continuous conversation he had had with the man, and he'd enjoyed it!

'Can I read more of the book this evening?' he asked as they were clearing up. 'I finished _Nineteen Eighty-Four _last night.'

'You may,' Snape said, 'but I am afraid I will not be joining you. I have an errand to run this evening that will take several hours. I trust that you will be alright by yourself?'

'Yeah,' Harry said, slightly disheartened. 'I'll be fine.'

'I will be home before it is time for bed,' Snape said. 'Under no circumstances should you leave the house – that includes the going out to the garden. I want you to stay indoors.'

'I've been inside all afternoon!' Harry complained.

'Do not whine at me.'

'But I'll get bored!' he protested.

'Are you under the impression that I care?'

Harry looked at the man's hard face and onyx glare. It wasn't much of a question.

'Fine,' he said. 'I'll stay in the house.'

'Good. I best be on my way,' Snape said. A single wave of his wand, and the navy jumper and dark trousers he was clad in were replaced by long black robes. He strode towards the kitchen door, halting in the doorway. 'I must say, Potter, despite the two occasions today, I have been most pleased with your conduct thus far. Well done.'

With that, he strode into the living room, and there was a faint _pop_, leaving Harry alone in the house, unsure how to feel about Snape's parting words.

* * *

Severus strode down the path towards Malfoy Manor, cursing himself. He did not know what had seized him to heap such praise upon the Potter boy, but it was very unlike him.

His words had not been untrue, though; Potter's conduct _had_ exceeded what Severus had imagined. The boy had carried out his chores with little to no argument, and the brat was proving to be almost tolerable company. Initially, Severus had taken solace in the fact that most of his time would be spent away from the child, working, but he was beginning to not despise the thought of their shared mealtimes and evenings.

Reaching out a hand to the grand knocker on the even grander front door, Severus shook off all thoughts of the boy. This place required a different mindset; one that had no room for sentimentality. Especially if he were to achieve his purpose.

He had been disgusted to hear what Dobby had to say; that Lucius and his cronies would intentionally endanger a twelve year-old boy's life to bolster the failing legacy of their old master was pitiful enough, but the idea that they would do it by making dangerous the school that the man's _own son _attended was repulsive. Severus intended to find out as much as he possibly could to stop whatever plan they had devised in its tracks.

It was not Lucius who opened the door, however. Severus could not help but smile at the sight of the lean blond boy who stood behind it, grinning at him.

'Uncle Severus!' he said happily.

'Draco,' Severus greeted. 'Too old for a hug?'

Draco glanced over his shoulder and then, when certain he was unobserved, threw himself at Severus.

'It has been far too long,' Severus said, patting the boy on the back and detaching himself from the embrace. 'How has your summer been?'

Draco screwed up his face. 'Alright, I s'pose. Father said that it was an embarrassment that I let a mudblood beat my grades last year, so he's had me sit with my tutor every morning for hours. He did buy me a new racing broom, though, which gets me round the garden twice as fast as my old one!'

'Language, Draco,' Severus admonished. 'I'm glad you have had some fun. And I am sure that you will be thankful to your father when you have a head start on all the other second years at the start of the term.'

'I guess so,' Draco said dubiously, ignoring the comment on his language. 'I just wish it wasn't with old Tutor McStinky-Breath. He recited the whole Declaration of Goblin Rights in front of me, and I swear, I nearly passed out.'

'Now, now, Draco, don't complain.' The boy visibly stiffened at the cold voice that filled the hallway. Lucius Malfoy stepped off the bottom stair, his black cane swinging in hand as he strode towards them. 'You would not be in this position had you applied yourself last year.'

Lucius turned his cool gaze to Severus.

'Or, perhaps, if your Potions professor had not awarded his highest grade to muggleborn scum,' he said, tilting his head slightly.

Severus drew himself up to his full height. If Lucius wanted to play, then he would too.

'Come, now, Lucius,' he said, scathingly, 'as if you could concoct a better potion than the thickest muggleborn. I seem to remember you brewing with the grace of an elephant in oven gloves during your own schooldays.'

'Is that so, Severus?'

'Oh, I do remember it being so,' Severus replied. 'I doubt they called you Lucius 'Remedial Potions' Malfoy for nothing.'

Lucius' eyes narrowed as he held Severus' gaze, but finally he cracked and his face split into a grin. Severus forced a matching smile and allowed himself to be pulled into a brusque one-armed embrace.

'It is good to see you, old friend,' Lucius said, 'I cannot remember the last time you visited our home.'

'Nor I. It must have been before Draco started Hogwarts.' Severus looked at the boy, who was watching the exchange wide-eyed, uncertain. 'I can assure you, Draco, your father was a fine potioneer in his time. What I said was a mere joke between friends.'

Draco nodded quickly, glancing at his father. Severus' words had seemingly reminded Lucius of the boy's presence, and the man's expression was growing cool again.

'Away with you, Draco,' he said, tapping his son's heel firmly with the cane. 'Can you not see that this is a conversation between adults – one in which you have no place? I do not want to see you until your Godfather is gone.'

'Yes, Father,' Draco said quietly, disappearing up the staircase.

'That was needlessly harsh, Lucius,' Severus said, once he was sure Draco was out of earshot.

'I do not need your opinion on my parenting, Severus,' Lucius snapped. 'You have no child.'

Severus levelled the blond man with a steady gaze.

'I- I simply meant that I am raising Draco as my father raised me,' Lucius continued, his white cheeks coloured by a slight pink tint. 'You must be unyielding and firm with a child if you wish them to end up strong and principled, as I did.'

'I see,' Severus said. 'May we sit?'

'Of course! Forgive me,' Lucius said, apparently glad for a change of subject. 'We can use the drawing room. Cissa just had it redecorated – speaking of, she asked me to apologise for her absence. She is staying overnight with Bella.'

'Not a problem,' Severus said, following the other man into the spacious drawing room and taking one of the two seats by the fireplace. 'It is you who I wanted to speak with.'

'Oh, really,' Lucius said, sitting opposite him. 'How intriguing. What do you wish to discuss?'

'Nothing in particular,' Severus said. 'It is nostalgia that has brought me here, truly. I am hungering for the old days, when it was you and I, and the others, against the world.'

'As do we all, my friend.'

'Have you any news, Lucius? I am desperate for some sign of his return.'

'You know that you would be the first to know should I hear of anything,' Lucius said.

'I know, friend,' Severus said. 'It is just hard not to feel trapped in my position of employment. Pray, tell, is there anything occurring at Hogwarts that I may be able to help with?'

Lucius opened his mouth, as if to say something, but closed it again. 'I fear that you are too close.'

Severus frowned. 'You surely cannot accuse me of fraternising with the enemy? You know I use my position to aid our cause, and our cause alone – I would never work for Dumbledore.'

The blond man threw back his head and laughed.

'Dear me, Severus – the idea of you working for that bumbling old fool is simply absurd. No, I quite literally mean too close. Albus Dumbledore is known to be skilled Legilimens. It is too risky to make known to you the specific details of what may or may not be occurring at the school.'

'Dumbledore is a known Legilimens as I am a known Occlumens – a skill that the Dark Lord trusted in well,' Severus said, making his displeasure clear in his tone. 'And yet you do not. For what reason I do not understand.'

'My reasons are my own to keep private,' Lucius said, raising his voice. 'You would do well to remember who is of the higher station in this conversation, Severus.'

'Forgive me, Lucius,' Severus said. If the mood turned sour, he would have no chance of obtaining what he wanted. 'It is hard not to get passionate about these issues.'

'I am the one in need of forgiveness, old friend,' Lucius said, calm once again, 'for I have forgotten to offer you refreshments. Dobby!'

_CRACK!_

Dobby appeared, prostrated on the floor. His eyes widened at the sight of Severus as he stood.

'Yes, Master?' the house-elf said, his voice quivering.

'We require wine, and cheese,' Lucius said. 'The opened bottle of Grand Cru should do, and the block of plain Taleggio.'

'Hold the cheese for me, if you don't mind. I have already eaten,' Severus added. 'Thank you, Dobby.'

The house-elf disappeared with another splitting crack.

'You only open Grand Cru in very specific company, my friend. I am hurt – where was my invite to the meeting?' Severus said once Dobby was gone, keeping his words light and jovial.

'You know me too well, Severus,' Lucius said. 'I will tell you this – you were right to ask if anything is to involve Hogwarts. We have made grand plans for this next academic year.'

The man paused whilst Dobby appeared again to deliver the wine and cheese, his lip curling with disgust as he watched the house-elf go about his work.

'The foundation has been laid, and the item with which it shall be implemented has been sourced by our good friend Borgin,' Lucius continued once Dobby was gone, his tone proud, almost boastful. 'Let me put it this way – a whole _chamber _of delights awaits any child of dirty blood that dares set foot in that school.'

Severus' stomach dropped at the thinly veiled allusion. The Chamber of Secrets – _that _was what Lucius and the other former Death Eaters had in store for Hogwarts. It was a chilling thought – all of the Hogwarts staff knew that the Chamber had been closed the last time by what seemed to be mere coincidence. The threat it would pose to the students was far greater than he had feared. It was not unreasonable to imagine that there would be deaths.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Severus picked a wine glass up off the table and raised it.

'To a fine plan,' he toasted.

'To a fine plan,' Lucius echoed, 'and to purity of blood.'

Severus pressed the glass to his lips and forced himself to take a sip. It was good wine, expensive, but it didn't get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth.

For the rest of the evening they chatted idly about family, Narcissa, and Lucius' position at the ministry, but Severus could not shake his unease at Lucius' revelation. He found he was incredibly glad when the clock hands reached half past nine and he could make his excuses and leave.

'Past your bedtime?' Lucius laughed when he stood up and declared he was going home.

'It would be past your bedtime too, Lucius, if you were getting up at dawn to pick shivering swamplilies,' he replied genially. 'Thank you for your hospitality.'

'As ever, Severus, the pleasure is mine.'

Severus made his way over to the drawing room door and pulled it open, stepping back in shock as the sleeping boy who had obviously been leaning against it rolled towards him on the carpeted floor.

Oh, Draco, you foolish, foolish boy, he chided internally, if you are going to eavesdrop, at least eavesdrop _well_.

Before Lucius could process what had occurred, Severus had grasped the disorientated child by the arm and pulled him to his feet, shaking him awake. The boy's jaw dropped as he took in his surroundings, his face taking on an expression of abject horror.

'Draco Lucius Malfoy,' came the harsh tone from across the room, 'would you care to explain yourself?'

'Yes, Father,' Draco said, turning even paler than he already was. 'I- I was just passing, when-'

'_Do not lie to me_!' The shrill shout cut through Draco's words, startling even Severus, although he did not show it.

'I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to- it-'

Severus silenced the boy with a hand on his shoulder.

'I think it is time I made my exit,' he said, bowing his head to Lucius and squeezing Draco's shoulder. He wanted nothing more than to stay and protect the child, but he knew his presence would only make it worse for Draco. Lucius had made it clear earlier that he did not appreciate Severus' interference. Instead, he pulled Draco into a quick hug.

'Do not appear weak to your father,' he said in a low voice, so that only the boy could hear him. He felt Draco shudder as he released a sob. He squeezed the child tighter. 'You are strong, Draco. Show him this. You will be fine.'

He gave the boy's back a gentle pat and released him.

'Bye, Uncle Sev,' Draco whispered miserably. Severus gave the boy a sad smile.

'I shall see you soon, Lucius,' he said, nodding to the man.

'Severus,' Lucius acknowledged through gritted teeth, his blazing eyes not leaving his son. The skin around his knuckles was white from the force with which he gripped his cane.

* * *

Harry stared blankly at the wall. He had tried his hardest to enjoy being stuck inside, but one could only read for so many consecutive hours without losing focus. It didn't help that he knew his broom hung on the other side of the wall, in the garden. Despite his promise to consider allowing him to fly if he was on his best behaviour (which he had been!) (mostly), Snape was still yet to say yes, and Harry was aching to get his hands on the broom.

He glanced at his watch – eight-thirty. Snape had said he would be back before bedtime, but that wasn't for another hour and a half. He could easily nip outside, fly for ten minutes, and be back inside, wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, well before the grouchy professor returned. Snape would be none the wiser, and the edge would be taken off his boredom.

Decided, Harry bounded out of the back door and grabbed his broom off the hook Snape had transfigured to hold it on the wall. Boy, it felt good to have the Nimbus 2000 back in his hands – perfectly balanced, its smooth curves felt like they had been shaped to fit his palms.

Broom in hand, he ran through the gate into the clearing, and, not slowing, mounted it. Elation filled him as his feet lifted off the ground – he dipped and dived, rolling and weaving around the large space as the wind buffeted him. He felt completely free for the first time since he had left Hogwarts. When he finally touched down again, his hair was tousled and his cheeks were red, and Harry was happy.

His happiness was not quelled when he checked his watch and saw that the time was just gone half-nine, nor when he realised he'd spattered the bottom of his jeans with mud. No, the only thing that turned his joy into terror was when he heard a twig snap behind him and spun around to see a dark figure standing by the back gate.

'I hope you enjoyed that,' Snape said darkly, 'because it's the last time you will be sitting comfortably for a while.'

* * *

**That's it! I hope you enjoyed it :)**

**To answer the question of one of my reviewers – yes, this is a story that I hope to keep updating for a long time! I have a long arc planned for it, and I'm excited to write it! I'm going to uni this weekend (hence me posting this at 4am UK time because things are a bit hectic but I wanted to get this out before I go!) so updates might be a bit more spaced out for a while, but I'll try my best! This story is not something I want to give up on.**

**Thank you for reading! Please do leave a review if you have a chance, they mean a lot. If you don't have time, thank you anyway and have a good day! **


	8. The Consequences

**Hello! It really has been a while and I am **_**so **_**sorry. University has been beyond incredible but beyond busy and I just haven't managed to find any time for writing, but this story holds a very special place in my heart, and it is one I can promise I won't give up on. **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter (and remember where we left off!). If you have time, please do leave a quick review, but if not, I hope you have a good read anyway :) ****Constructive criticism is, as always, welcome.**

**Warning - contains corporal punishment. If that upsets you/makes you uncomfortable/simply is not your thing, _please _do not read.**

* * *

_Chapter 8 – The Consequences_

Snape was _angry. _His jaw was set and his face stony, but the man's eyes betrayed a terrible fury. Gulping, Harry opened his mouth to speak, but closed it at the look on the professor's face.

'I would advise you to select your words _very _carefully, Potter,' Snape said slowly, his tone dangerous. He looked pointedly between Harry's wind-flushed face and the racing broom clutched in his hand. 'Your circumstances would be rather unforgiving towards lies. I can promise that I will be too.'

Desperately, Harry fumbled for something to say, but words escaped him. Snape was right; there was no explaining his way out of this one.

'M'sorry,' he mumbled eventually. The disappointment evident in Snape's eyes became too much to bear and he stared determinedly at the muddy ground, fiddling with the frayed edge of his sleeve.

'Look at me.'

Harry ignored the order. Meeting Snape's gaze would mean exposing the guilty tears that had begun to well in his eyes.

Snape covered the distance between them in a few quick strides, and soon there was a hand underneath his jaw, gently but firmly tipping Harry's head up. He did not resist, kicking himself as the first tears spilled over. Snape's expression had not changed, but a small frown graced his forehead at the sight of Harry's face.

'Now is not the time for disobedience,' the man chided, releasing Harry's jaw with a small sigh. 'You know precisely what you have done wrong, and I should hope you have realised quite how disappointed I am. Get inside, _now; _shower, dress in your nightclothes, and I expect to see you in the corner of my office in exactly ten minutes time.'

Harry sped towards the garden gate, anxious to do as he was told. His heart was still racing, but by the time that Snape's study door opened ten minutes later, Harry's nose was pressed firmly against the wall in the corner. The professor did not acknowledge him, instead sitting down at his desk and scratching away with his quill; Harry was certain he heard a few owls come and go whilst he stared at the wood-panelled wall, but he dared not utter a word.

Finally, the silence was broken.

'Sit down,' came the cool command.

Harry hurried to follow the order, taking the wooden chair opposite the imposing man.

'Have you anything to say for yourself?'

Harry bit his lip and shook his head. Snape had given him more than enough time to think of excuses whilst working at his desk, but Harry had drawn a blank. Whenever he tried to think up some justification for his actions, all he found was guilt for disobeying the man; he had resolved to simply grit his teeth and deal with the consequences.

'You disappoint me.'

Harry's heart dropped at the cold words. Snape folded his arms and leant back in his chair, holding Harry in his unreadable gaze.

'A week, Potter. You held yourself to standards of behaviour that far exceeded my expectations, and, I believe, yours, for a _whole week_,' Snape continued, 'and yet the minute I leave you alone you make every possible effort to remind me what an incorrigible brat you are.'

'I'm sorry,' Harry said quietly.

'Yes, I imagine that you are,' Snape said bitingly, 'now that you have been caught.'

'It's not like that!' Harry protested, frowning.

'Oh? Is that so?' The man's tone was heavy with sarcasm. 'I _am_ sure you were apologetic the instant you kicked off the ground. The barrel roll I saw you do was practically _drenched _in contrition.'

'I wasn't- I mean, I didn't… well, I'm sorry now,' Harry said, blushing. 'I know I shouldn't have gone flying.'

'And yet you did.'

Harry shrugged. 'I was bored.'

Wrong response: the words seemed to incense Snape. Harry's stomach turned as the man's onyx eyes glowed like embers with anger.

'You were bored?' Snape repeated slowly, deathly quiet. '_Bored? _Have you _any _idea how badly your little exploit could have ended for you?'

_Probably not much worse than this,_ Harry thought, though he decided to keep that one to himself. Uttering it aloud would probably equate to a death sentence given his situation.

'No, sir,' he replied instead, wincing at Snape's unimpressed glare. 'I mean, yes,' he tried again, 'I… I could have been seen.'

'At last - some evidence of a brain,' Snape derided. 'My garden is my property, but the woods around it are not. Any passer-by could have witnessed your brazen tomfoolery.'

'But they didn't!' Harry couldn't help but interject, indignant. Snape was making it out as if he'd been prancing around shooting fireworks out his wand in broad daylight. 'It was dark! There weren't any muggles around.'

'That does not make a difference. You may have been lucky – that is no excuse for your complete disregard for the potential consequences of your actions.'

Snape leant back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily.

'What if Ida had wandered by?' he continued. 'At her age, hm? You could have given her a heart attack.'

Harry's heart sank. 'I didn't think-'

'You certainly did not,' Snape cut in, 'and that is exactly your problem, Potter. If you took the time to _think _before you act, you and I would have had far fewer issues over the last year.'

'I try to-'

'You do not,' Snape interrupted again. 'Regardless, you being seen is not my primary concern. Your barefaced disobedience was both foolish and insulting, but above all else dangerous. You could have been gravely hurt.'

'What?' Harry said, perplexed.

'It is not hard to understand, boy. Should you have fallen from your broom, who knows how long you would have been lying injured in the mud before I found you,' Snape paused, his frown deepening, 'and I believe the phrase you are looking for is pardon.'

'Oh,' Harry said softly. Guilt was beginning to creep back into the pit of his stomach. He had thought Snape was just angry because Harry had disobeyed him, but it seemed almost like the notoriously uncaring Potions Master had been worried about his safety. 'I'm sorry,' he said again.

'Sorry is not good enough, Potter.'

'I really do mean it, sir,' Harry insisted.

Snape pinned him with a hard look. Harry squirmed uncomfortably under his scrutiny but held the man's steady gaze. Finally, the professor spoke.

'I believe that you do. But that does not excuse you from the consequences.'

Harry's eyes widened but he dipped his head in a small nod. He had known this was coming but that did not make it any easier.

'Come here.'

Following the order ought to have come naturally to Harry by now, but the walk around the desk still felt longer than a mile on hot coals.

'Good,' Snape said once Harry was in front of him. 'Now tell me what you did wrong.'

'I, erm, flew when you told me I couldn't,' Harry said, embarrassed. Snape raised an eyebrow expectantly. 'And… and I could have been seen or I could have got hurt and you wouldn't have been there to help.'

Snape nodded. 'The disregard you have for the rules is concerning, but the disregard you have for your safety is even more so. Flying your broom in the garden may seem a trivial matter but there will come a time when your thoughtlessness could put you in far greater danger. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said miserably.

'Good. You _must _learn to think, Potter, or the consequences will be much worse than anything I could mete out,' Snape warned. 'Speaking of consequences, let us get this over with.'

The man wasted no time, gripping Harry's arm and pulling him firmly over his lap. Tears were already pricking Harry's eyes as first smack fell. He tried desperately to hold onto his Gryffindor courage, but each stinging blow underscored Snape's disappointment. By the time the spanking was in full force, Harry was sobbing quietly into the professor's robe.

After a minute or so the smacks ceased to fall. Snape's hand remained firmly in the small of Harry's back.

'Do you recall my words from earlier today?' he asked, 'after I dealt with you for entering my laboratory?'

Harry nodded glumly.

'A verbal response would be nice, Potter.'

'You said… you said that if I- I disobeyed you again, you'd be ha- harsher than before,' Harry got out between sniffles.

'I did indeed,' Snape said. He sighed. 'I did not anticipate that you would do so as quickly as you did, but, regretfully, I am a man of my word. Lie still.'

Harry did so, equally confused and apprehensive. Snape muttered something and tapped the back of his thigh lightly. A strange, cold feeling crept up Harry's legs, and he went beet red at the realisation that his pyjama bottoms were now around his ankles.

'You- you can't do that, sir!' he protested, struggling to free himself from the professor's grasp.

'Oh?' Snape questioned, his firm hand not moving from Harry's back. 'And why would that be?'

'It's… it's not fair!'

'Let me tell you what is not fair,_ Potter_,' Snape said, his words terribly stern. Harry's stomach churned at the anger in the man's voice. 'What is not _fair_ is disobeying your guardian for no discernible reason, putting yourself in potential danger whilst doing so and leaving no indication of your whereabouts. I had no idea where you were, Potter!'

Harry lay deflated over Snape's lap. He buried his face in the folds of the professor's robe, trying to hide the tears of guilt that were beginning to spill over once more.

'_That _is not fair,' Snape continued, 'to return home and assume you have lost your ward, only to find him prancing around in the back garden doing the one thing that was explicitly forbidden. I do not believe that warrants a gentle punishment, do you?'

Harry shook his head miserably.

'Then stop your childish quarrelling. You will survive, Potter, I promise.'

With that, Snape brought his hand down on Harry's behind once more. Harry winced; the lack of protection that came from one less layer of clothing was more than noticeable. No more than ten smacks had fallen before the fiery sting had reignited and he was sobbing once again.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Harry tried to catch his breath, but the forceful sobs would not stop wracking his body.

'There, there,' came the tentative words from behind, accompanied by a hesitant pat to his back. Harry's trousers were gently righted, and, to his confusion, he found himself being lifted from the man's lap.

Snape set him on his feet and, taking one look at his teary face, pulled him into a hug. Harry stiffened, caught off guard by the man's actions, but let himself relax when he realised the strong arms were not going to let go.

Snape let Harry cry into his chest for a while, slowly rubbing his back with one hand. When it became clear that Harry's tears were not going to cease, he set him back on his feet and gave him a questioning look.

'Come, Potter, surely it was not that painful?'

Harry shook his head vigorously. 'Wasn't,' he mumbled between hiccupping sobs.

'Well, then, what is it?' Snape pushed gently.

Harry gave a small shrug, swiping at his tears with the sleeve of his top.

'Come now, silly child, stop blubbering and use your words,' Snape said. His tone was far gentler than the admonishing words should have allowed. 'Tell me what is wrong.'

'It- it's just…' Harry paused, taking a deep breath. 'It's just that you were right- you know, when you said that this- me staying here, that is, has been better than I thought it would be, and now- now I've gone and ruined it all.'

'Potter.'

'And I know- I know this isn't forever, but I sort of wouldn't have minded st-staying here for the rest of s-summer, 'cause really it's not been that horrible, and my relatives are- my relatives _were_ much worse.'

'Potter, listen to me.'

'And now,' Harry continued, rushing to get his words out before a fresh wave of tears came, 'and now- now you're going to send me somewhere else 'cause I messed it all up.'

'_Enough,' _Snape commanded. Harry looked up in shock. 'You foolish child, you are not going anywhere.'

'Oh,' Harry said quietly.

'Unless… that is what you desire?' Snape asked, raising an eyebrow. There was an incongruous uncertainty to his tone.

Harry shook his head immediately. 'No, thank you, sir. I- I mean, if that's okay. I understand if you want to get rid of me.'

'I thought I said enough, Potter,' Snape said, his voice stern. 'Off with this asinine notion that I am about to evict you from my home.'

'But I thought- well, I _know_ you don't like me,' Harry said, confused, 'and I- I really didn't make good decisions today.'

'You are correct about the latter, and we have dealt with that. You know I am no supporter of double jeopardy,' Snape said, folding his arms. 'As for the former, I will admit I was not thrilled when Dumbledore instructed me to retrieve you from the Dursleys', nor do we have the best track record for getting along, but since you have been under my roof, you have proved to be… not intolerable. You will remain here for the rest of the summer.'

'Oh,' Harry said once more. He couldn't help a grin spreading on his face at the professor's choice of words. 'Thanks, sir. You're not intolerable either.'

'You mind your cheek,' Snape frowned, 'or I shall have to revise my statement.'

'I'll try my best,' Harry promised, smiling again. Somehow, the dour man's assurance that Harry was not going anywhere had cheered him right up.

Snape raised an eyebrow. 'I suppose that will have to do. Do not look too happy, Potter – you made several mistakes today, and whilst they are forgivable, you are back at square one when it comes to gaining my trust enough to let you fly.'

'I know, sir,' Harry said. He'd thought as much.

'As a matter of fact,' Snape continued, 'before today's events, I had decided to let you fly tomorrow.'

Harry's jaw dropped. If he'd just waited one more day… _You're an idiot, Potter, _he thought to himself.

'You are not,' Snape said. Harry flushed; he had not meant to say that aloud. 'You are merely a child; a foolish one, at that, but a child. You are allowed to make mistakes.'

'If I'm allowed to make mistakes,' Harry tried mischievously, 'then why do you punish-'

'You are allowed to make mistakes so long as you accept the consequences and do not repeat them,' Snape interjected. His tone was serious but there was a perceptible hint of amusement in his eyes. 'Now, _bed_, Potter,' he continued, 'I have had enough of your impertinence.'

'But it's not even ten!' Harry protested. Snape levelled him with a hard look and suddenly Harry was acutely aware of the sting in his behind and who had put it there. Re-evaluating his position on bedtime, he said, 'Fine. Night, sir.'

'Goodnight, Potter. Sleep well.'

'You too.'

As he bounded up the stairs, Harry considered the events of the evening. It may well have been his worst encounter with the Potions Master so far, yet he had escaped with both his life and his home still in his possession. He decided it could be deemed a relative success.

His home: Harry supposed that he was allowed to call it that now he knew he wasn't leaving it any time soon, and the end of summer was really quite far away still. He wasn't quite sure about the technicalities, but Harry knew one thing for sure; Snape's house felt more like his home than Privet Drive ever had.

* * *

Severus absentmindedly twirled the stirrer through the pearly liquid, pondering the night before. Upon returning from Malfoy Manor to find an empty house he had been frighteningly alarmed; a feeling he would never have imagined could have been inspired by Harry Potter's absence. Draco's plight must have set him on edge, making him more predisposed to worry.

He would have to remember to check in with his godson the next time he saw him. Severus had never agreed with Lucius' parenting style, but there was little he could do change it. Still, it pained him to see the cruel disdain the man had for his own child.

Footsteps on the floor above drew Severus from his thoughts.

'Potter? Is that you?' he called.

'Erm, yeah. Can I come down?' came the tentative response.

'You may.'

He watched as the boy descended the ladder, tutting as he skipped the last few rungs and hopped to the floor.

'You'll never _believe _what just happened!' Potter said, bouncing up off a foot stall and landing his behind on the worksurface with an inelegant _thump_.

'Careful,' Severus chided, wincing as the vials and bottles arrayed on the table rattled. He noted gladly that Potter was seemingly not feeling the effects of the previous evening's punishment anymore.

'Sorry,' the boy said sheepishly. 'Anyway, I was reading my transfiguration textbook in the garden like you suggested – it's actually not that bad, you know – and this… this _thing _appeared! And it was… it was…'

'Blue?' Severus suggested, amused by the energy of the child's rambling.

'Yeah!' Potter replied, surprised. 'And it looked like… well, it had the shape of a…'

'A deer?' Severus supplied.

'That's it - a deer but with no antlers! But that's not the weirdest part,' Potter said earnestly, 'you see, it spoke to me! In _your _voice! It told me to come down here, that you wanted to see me, and so, erm, I did.'

'Rightly so,' Severus said. 'That was my patronus, Potter - a spell usually cast in defence against dementors, a particularly dark creature. It is also, however, a rather useful messenger.'

'So you really did want me to come down here?' the boy asked curiously.

'I did indeed,' Severus replied. 'Come here.'

Potter hopped down from the worktop and moved closer to him.

'These are the ingredients for an antiemesis draught,' Severus said, gesturing to the table in front of him. 'I brew a stock for Madam Pomfrey every year, but this batch – if you would like – is yours to concoct.'

The boy's eyebrows shot up. 'Mine?' he exclaimed. 'You mean I'm allowed to brew in your lab?'

'Just this potion for now, but yes,' Severus replied. 'Having something to focus on should keep you out of trouble.'

Or at least he hoped it would. Despite the fact that Potter had a knack for getting into trouble very much of his own accord, Severus could not shake the guilty feeling that if he had given the boy something to occupy his free time with, none of the events of the day before would have happened.

The surprising voracity with which Potter had consumed _Potent Potions _had given him the idea of giving the child a potion to work with. Judging by the eagerness in the boy's eyes as he looked over the ingredients arrayed on the table, the idea had not been a bad one.

'Do not get too excited, Potter,' Severus cautioned, 'it is no easy potion. Should you mess up any one of the many delicate steps, you must start again from the beginning.'

'Erm, maybe you should do it,' Potter said, stepping away from the table uncertainly. 'I'm no Potions Master.'

Severus looked at the boy appraisingly. His first instinct was to agree with the child, maybe throw in a snide comment, but he stopped himself. This was not a Hogwarts classroom; he did not have 20 different students to control and 20 different learning style to accommodate. Potter was his only focus, and there was no need to brush him away and move on.

'Nor was I,' Severus said, 'aged twelve. Mastery comes only through persistence and practice. There is hope even for the likes of you, Potter.'

A small smile ghosted the boy's face. 'So you really think I could make it?' he asked questioningly.

Severus nodded. 'I would not have suggested it if I thought otherwise,' he said. 'You will undoubtedly make mistakes, but there is no harm in trying.'

Potter's smile broke out into a grin. 'Can I start now?'

Severus considered the question. He needed the laboratory for his own uses during the afternoon, but there was no reason why they could not share the space. The room was big enough that he and Potter could both use it without crossing paths.

'I don't see why not,' he said. Severus felt a strange warm feeling in his chest as Potter's grin widened and he punched the air. 'Do not misunderstand me, Potter,' he continued. 'It will require your utmost focus. It is a hard potion – far beyond the second-year curriculum. Here,' he pointed to the bubbling cauldron, 'I have made you a base. That is the hardest part - the rest should be within your capabilities if you concentrate.'

'Thank you!' Potter said, stepping towards the table.

Severus stood back, satisfaction settling upon him as he watched the child busy himself with the ingredients on the worktop. _Not a sight I ever thought I would see, _he mused to himself. Although it was not a terrible sight, either; he had not been lying when had told the boy that he did not find him intolerable. He felt a curious pride in the fact that Potter was so enjoying something that he himself held so close to his heart.

Shuddering at the triteness of his thoughts, Severus shrugged off the sentimentality and began his own work.

* * *

Harry hopped down the stairs and into the kitchen, surprised to see a significant lack of Snape. The professor was not sat at the end of the dinner table, hidden behind a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ with his usual cup of coffee; instead, there was a short, handwritten note on the table.

_Out. Will return shortly. Complete your run and eat breakfast. _

_S.S._

Just as Harry finished reading the note, the front door clattered, signalling Snape's return.

'Where were you?' he asked as the man entered the kitchen.

'Good morning to you, too, Potter,' Snape said sardonically, depositing two large bags on the kitchen table. 'I was collecting an order.'

'From the apothecary?'

'From the tailor. These are for you.'

Harry's eyes widened. He stepped towards the nearest bag, peering over the edge. Inside sat a hefty pile of clothes, full of jeans and jumpers and T-shirts. He didn't have to touch them to tell that they were good quality. Harry looked up at Snape, astounded.

'You- you really didn't have to.'

'I did, and I should have done so much sooner,' the professor replied. 'It does not befit my charge to be running around in clothes four times his size.'

'How much did it cost?' Harry asked. 'I have money, I can pay-'

'None of that,' Snape cut him off swiftly. He looked Harry up and down. 'You have not been for your run yet?'

'Only just woke up,' Harry shrugged. Snape gave him a funny look. 'What?'

'It is gone ten o'clock, Potter,' Snape frowned.

'Oh,' Harry said. He checked his watch, surprised to see that the man was correct. 'Didn't you try and wake me?'

'I called your name as usual,' Snape said. He shot Harry a discerning look. 'Did you not hear?'

Harry shrugged again. 'S'pose I must have been tired.'

'I see,' Snape said, frowning again. 'Know that your lie in will eat into your free time this afternoon. I do not expect that you will have enough time to finish the next step of you antiemesis draught.'

Harry pouted. He genuinely had not heard the professor's call, and when he thought about it, he _was _feeling particularly drained, but he knew better than to argue. He couldn't help but feel deflated, though; he had been working alongside Snape in his laboratory for nearly a week now and had been looking forward to completing an especially long and complicated step of the draught that afternoon. Not only that, but as much as he was loath to admit it, Harry was beginning to enjoy the Potions Master's company.

'Can I still help you in the laboratory?' he asked, putting on best puppy-dog eyes.

Snape considered the request. 'If you manage to finish your chores by lunch, then I do not see why not.'

Harry beamed at the man, who responded by shooing him towards the door.

'Out, Potter,' he said. 'If I were you, I would make a start by completing your morning exercise.'

* * *

Severus watched as Potter bounded towards the door and fumbled with his trainers. Their time spent working together over the week had been surprising, to say the least. The boy was a quick study, displaying an aptitude for Potions that he had never exhibited when hiding amongst his Gryffindor friends. Severus had found his presence oddly refreshing; brewing repeat batches of the same potions for Poppy's stock was certainly made less dry by the child's constant babble.

'Are you okay, Potter?' he called, concerned. The boy had finished tying his laces and was standing stock still in the doorway, his hand resting on the door jamb.

'Yeah,' Potter said, seeming to shake himself. 'Yeah, sorry, sir. I'm just going.'

'Very well.' Severus watched him disappear into the garden, his concern fading as the boy leapt over a flowerbed with his usual vigour.

He drew his wand from his jacket, tapping the bags of clothes and vanishing them to Potter's room, then brewed himself a cup of coffee and settled down with the _Daily Prophet_. He released a satisfied sigh; it was a miserably rainy day, and he was glad to be back inside.

Potter had still not reappeared by the time that Severus turned over the final page of the paper. Frowning, he placed it down on the table and stood up. _Even if the child had been walking each lap at snail pace, he would have been back by now, _Severus thought. _He must be up to something._

Irritated, he pulled on a waterproof and strode out into the summer drizzle. As he passed through the gate to the clearing, his strides got bigger and faster at what he saw.

'Potter,' he called as he moved towards the boy, '_Potter. _Can you hear me?'

The child was on his knees in the mud at the far side of the clearing. His wet hair was plastered to his unusually pale face, and, when Severus finally arrived at his side, he could see that he was visibly shivering.

'Here,' he said, pulling off his coat. As he wrapped it around Potter, the child murmured something. Severus leant closer. 'What? What is it?'

'I tried…' Potter said, his lower lip trembling. 'I tried… to run.'

Severus cursed himself. He should have noticed that something was wrong before he sent the child out in the rain.

'I am sure you did,' he said, wrapping his arms around the boy. 'Do not worry about that anymore.'

He placed a hand on Potter's clammy forehead, his heart dropping at how hot it was. Severus sighed, bundling the boy up in his arms and moving towards the house. He did not know what was wrong – Poppy would have to find that out for him – but he knew one thing for sure. Severus Snape had one very sick child on his hands.

* * *

**That's all for now! Thank you so much for sticking with me and reading it, I really hope you enjoyed it :)**

**If you have the time, I would be beyond grateful if you could drop a quick review! If not, don't worry, and have a good day!**

**[My updates will likely continue to be irregular until summer, but I'll try my best to update during term time. This is definitely a story I aim to finish, and I have far, far more to write. Check my bio for an update on whether I am writing currently or not if you're curious!]**

**[Also – I have been getting some **_**very **_**strange reviews! They are all from guests, but I imagine they are the same person, and they are all the same spiel about Harry retiring. It is as if someone is reading a different, random story and leaving reviews on mine. I am assuming it is a rather confused, harmless person and I do not mind, but if anyone has a solid explanation, this confused writer would be grateful!]**


	9. Under No Illusion

**Hi! I've managed to sneak in a quick chapter before I go back to uni ;)**** It diverges a little more into my own AU at the end - I hope you enjoy it! If you get a chance, please do drop me a review – they make a big difference. If not, still enjoy, and have a good day!**

* * *

_Chapter 9 - Under No Illusion_

The boy looked ever so small in Severus' double bed, his pale face just visible above the green covers that swamped his body. Potter had had no trouble following Severus' order to rest; the instant his head had hit the pillow, he had fallen into a deep sleep.

It was not a restful one though; a small frown creased the boy's forehead and his eyes flitted erratically beneath their lids. Severus cursed himself as he paced back and forth at the bottom of the bed. If only he had noticed sooner – before he had sent the ill child out into the pouring rain, perhaps – Potter may not have ended up in such a fragile state.

He should have picked up on the signs; it was unlike Potter to sleep in, and he _had _been looking slightly peaky that morning, when Severus thought about it. The image of the boy faltering at the garden door flashed across his mind. He had passed it off as Potter trying to put off going out in the rain for his run, but he supposed that was where he had failed the boy; he had passed off all of his symptoms as disobedience.

'Severus.' A shrill voice shook him from his thoughts. '_Severus,'_ it said again, more insistently. He stopped his pacing and spun round to see Poppy standing in the doorway. 'Goodness, man, you were in another world entirely,' she said. 'I came as soon as I got your owl. I used the floo in your living room – I would have sent a request, but considering the urgency of the matter…'

'Not at all, Poppy,' he brushed off her apology, 'I am glad you are here.'

'As am I,' the healer replied, glancing worriedly at the small figure in the bed. 'What in Merlin's name happened?'

'I found him like this,' Severus said, running a hand through his hair. 'In… in the garden.'

'And what exactly was he doing in the garden in a state like this?'

'Jogging,' Severus said. 'He does it every morning just fine, but today… I should have known.'

Poppy shot him a stern look. 'You better not have been running this child into the ground, Severus Snape.'

Severus opened his mouth to object but closed it again. Potter needed to be the focus now, not petty arguments with protective matrons.

He watched as Poppy busied herself with checking over the boy, pretending not to notice the extra diagnostic spells that she was performing. Severus knew more than a little about magical medicine – Potions and healing tended to go hand in hand – and he could tell that she was assessing him for mistreatment and malnutrition, amongst other things. He could not help but be a little offended at the notion that he was do such a thing, but he knew that her actions came from a place of care for the child. Poppy had a wealth of medical experience that he did not, and he was content to place Potter's care in her hands, even if it came with subtle slights to his pride.

'Well?' he prompted eventually, his impatience getting the better of him.

'Patience, Severus,' Poppy scolded. 'These things take time.'

Severus released a frustrated sigh. He knew she was right. Poppy had a particular talent for making him feel like an impertinent child. Sighing again, he went back to his pacing, losing himself once more in his worried thoughts.

Once more, his thoughts were disturbed, this time by the bedroom door swinging open.

'Albus?' he asked questioningly, surprised by the figure who appeared from behind it.

'Severus, my boy,' the old wizard greeted fondly. 'Terribly sorry to burst in so discourteously, but I came as quickly as I could – Poppy let me know. I used your living room fireplace; I do hope you don't mind.'

'No…' Severus looked between the two of them, trying to take in the situation. 'No, that is fine.'

'Good man,' Albus said. 'How is Harry?'

Severus opened his mouth to answer but Poppy beat him to it.

'He will be fine. I am just coming to a diagnosis, but all of his symptoms seem very treatable.'

'Ah, exactly as I had hoped,' Albus replied, sharing a smile with the healer. 'Did you say that you sent a message to-'

He was cut off as the door swung open once more, revealing Minerva McGonagall in the doorway.

'I came as soon as your owl arrived, Poppy. Good to see you, Albus,' she nodded at him. 'Severus,' she added tersely.

'Well, Poppy - you really _did_ call in the cavalry,' Severus said through gritted teeth, exasperated. He had no quarrel with any of his guests, but to have them all unannounced in his bedroom was certainly overwhelming.

'I was _concerned_,' said the matron indignantly.

'And rightfully so!' Minerva added. 'You said he has a fever?'

'Yes-' Severus began.

'He does,' Poppy finished. 'But I can bring it down quite easily.'

'Wonderful,' Albus smiled. 'And you were just saying that his other symptoms are treatable?'

The three of them continued to converse between themselves, almost as if Severus was not present. It became more and more frustrating, until finally he broke.

'Will you all stop pretending I am not here!' he near-shouted. Silence fell upon the room and three stunned faces turned towards him. Severus blushed as he realised what he had done. 'Sorry,' he said sheepishly, once again feeling like a child under the gaze of his three guests, all by far his senior. 'I just… I mean to say, the boy is mine to take care of and none of you are allowing me to do a very good job of that right now.'

Albus stepped back from the bed, a glint in his eye.

'You are right, Severus. We are doing you a disservice. Let the man through.'

Poppy and Minerva shared an indiscernible glance and moved aside slightly, allowing Severus to step towards the bedside. The familiar guilt wrapped itself around his chest at the sight of Potter's ashen face.

'What is wrong with him?' he asked the healer, his eyes not leaving the child.

'Flu. A particularly bad bout, I imagine,' Poppy answered. 'Mr Potter would likely not be experiencing the symptoms to _quite _this extent if he had not been out in the rain,' she added, shooting Severus a disapproving look, 'but it is evident that he has been well looked after these last few weeks, more so than his body had been used to.'

'The human body has a particular talent for pushing onward through hard times,' she continued. 'When one finally reaches a place of safety, the exhaustion and ill health can catch up and hit you all in one go, with exceptional ferocity. I believe this is what happened to Mr Potter.'

'In other words, Severus,' Albus said gently, 'Poppy is saying that it is not your fault. Harry will be fine.'

'I see,' Severus said. He released a sigh of relief, surprised to notice just how much tension he had been holding in his chest.

'I can start treating him now, if you would like,' Poppy said. Severus nodded, realising with satisfaction that it was the first time any of them had deferred to him regarding Potter's care. He observed the healer as she pulled out her medical kit and began to rummage through different vials and bottles.

'Minerva,' Albus said quietly, 'shall we allow them some peace and quiet?'

Minerva nodded, taking the hint. The two of them stepped out of the bedroom.

Severus, grateful for the little extra breathing room provided by their exit, moved round the bed to Potter's head. He gently pushed the child's tangled fringe off his forehead, removing his glasses and placing them on the bedside table. As he pulled the covers up around his chin, he noticed gladly that the boy's face beginning to regain a little bit of colour.

'Severus,' Poppy said gently. He spun round, almost guiltily; he had forgotten the mediwitch was there. 'Here,' she said, pushing a vial into his hand. 'Three drops of this should start to bring his temperature down.'

Severus accepted the vial, propping up Potter's head and coaxing the potion past his lips. As he lay him back down, the child shifted restlessly.

'There, there,' he said, instinctively brushing the boy's hair from his eyes. 'Settle down, now.'

'We should let him sleep,' Poppy said, her soft words far from her usual shrill tone. He looked up. The stern healer was watching him closely, an unusual tenderness in her eyes.

'We should,' he agreed. He pulled over a large armchair, taking a seat next to the bed. 'I will stay. It is best to have someone to ensure he is not disorientated should he wake.'

'Very well,' Poppy nodded. Her soft countenance was the polar opposite of the mask of disapproval she had worn upon her arrival. 'I will be downstairs with the others if you need me.'

'Thank you, Poppy.'

'Not a problem at all,' she responded, stepping out the door and leaving Severus alone in the armchair, his gaze transfixed on the slow rise and fall of the boy's chest.

* * *

The voices chased each other through Harry's dreams, each one fuzzy and ill-formed.

'You should have seen… so tender with the boy…'

'...had my doubts when you placed him with Severus, but he clearly cares a great deal for the child…'

'He has no reason not to, Minerva… give the man less credit than he is due…'

Light began to seep into the darkness that rested upon him, and Harry realised he was not dreaming, but waking up. He blinked blearily, just about making out three figures standing at the end of his bed. Blindly, he reached for his glasses.

'Hush – he is awake,' he heard someone say as he finally located his glasses and slipped them on. As his surroundings became clear,er Harry only became more confused; he seemed to be in Snape's bed, and stood at the foot were Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, as well as Madam Pomfrey. Bewildered, he propped himself up on his elbow.

'Um… hi,' he said uncertainly, feeling oddly like an animal in the zoo with the three of them peering at him. 'What happened?'

'What do you remember, Harry?' Dumbledore asked gently.

Harry thought about it. 'I went for a run this morning, but I couldn't do it… and then Snape- I think he came to find me, but-'

'Potter, that was three days ago,' McGonagall said. 'It's Tuesday. You've been very ill.'

'Oh.' Harry flopped back down on the pillow, not sure what to think of the revelation. Suddenly becoming aware of a stark absence within his audience, he pushed himself straight back up. 'Where's Snape?'

'He did not leave your side,' Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. He nodded to Harry's right. Snape was slumped in a large green armchair next to the bed, his eyes closed, and his head propped against the headrest. There were obvious shadows under his eyes, and Harry recognised his dark shirt and trousers as the same ones that he had been wearing on Saturday morning. Still, he relaxed slightly at the man's presence.

'Was I really that ill?' he asked.

'Nothing life threatening, child,' Madam Pomfrey reassured him. 'Just a bad flu and fever. Here I was, thinking that I would at least get a summer off from looking after you and all your ills and injuries…'

'Sorry,' Harry said, sheepish. 'Why are you all here?'

'Just in case Professor Snape… needed any help,' McGonagall said. 'Which, in fact, he did not,' she added, glancing at the sleeping man. 'He was terribly concerned about you.'

'I was most certainly not,' came a hoarse voice from the armchair. Snape sat up, clearing his throat. 'I was merely fulfilling my required duty of care as a guardian.' He turned towards Harry. 'It is good to see you awake, Potter.'

'It is good to see _you_ awake, Severus,' Madam Pomfrey said before Harry could reply. 'You look exhausted.'

'Mm, you need a shower, my boy,' Albus said, adding jovially, 'and a shave.'

Snape raised an eyebrow and reached up to feel his jawline, where a 5 o'clock shadow was becoming apparent.

'Are you saying it does not suit me, Albus?' he said seriously. 'I rather like the rugged look.'

'It becomes you, Severus, but I fear we may start mixing you up with Hagrid.'

'Ah. Then I suppose I best clean myself up,' Snape said, pushing himself up from the chair.

Harry watched the exchange between the two professors, bemused. Dumbledore had always symbolised such warmth and kindliness to him, and he had not expected Snape to be so close to older wizard, nor exchange easy banter with him in the way that he had. Then again, Snape had surprised him in a lot of ways recently.

'How do you feel, Potter?' the Potions Master asked him.

'I feel fine,' he replied. 'Good, actually.' It was true; all that remained of his illness was a slight lingering headache and feeling of drowsiness.

Snape levelled Harry with a hard look, as if deciding whether to believe him. Apparently deciding that he did, he nodded and left the room, saying 'I shall be back soon.'

'I fancy a cup of tea,' McGonagall declared, moving to follow Snape. 'You mentioned that restorative herbal brew, Poppy – have you got any left?'

'Yes, I left it downstairs. Let me show you where it is.'

With that, the two women vacated the room, leaving Harry alone with Dumbledore.

'Did you really all come to help Snape look after me,' Harry asked once they were gone, 'or was it because you thought he wouldn't do a very good job?'

'You don't miss much, do you, my boy?' Dumbledore said, stepping forward and resting his hands on the foot of the bed. 'I believe Professor McGonagall came out of concern for your wellbeing; whether that included worry over your guardian's caring capabilities I do not know. Madam Pomfrey was here solely to treat you, but I am sure she had her own concerns, which no doubt were mollified. And it is still _Professor _Snape, Harry,' he corrected gently.

'Sorry,' Harry said. 'And, erm, why are _you _here, sir?'

'Ah, well, I believe a visit is long overdue,' Dumbledore replied, smiling. 'I am sorry I did not come sooner. I did not want to disrupt your new living arrangement before you had settled in… which, it sounds like, you have?'

'I think so,' Harry said. 'At first I thought it would be really terrible because, well, you know, Snape's a git-'

'_Harry._'

'Sorry, I mean _was _a git,' Harry corrected. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow but there was a definite hint of amusement in his eyes. 'He's still a bit strict - he hasn't even let me go out on my broom yet - - but other than that it's been better than I expected.'

'I am glad to hear it. One oft finds sanctuary in the unlikeliest of places,' Dumbledore mused. 'You and Professor Snape are far more alike than I believe either of you realise. And I am sure there is good reason as to why he has not let you fly yet.'

The knowing edge to Dumbledore's last statement made Harry certain that Snape had told him about the flying incident. Harry blushed, choosing instead to focus on the headmaster's other words.

'What do you mean, Professor?' he asked, curiously. 'How are we alike?'

'In more ways than one, my boy,' the old wizard said knowingly. 'Professor Snape had a childhood not dissimilar to yours. That is not mine to divulge, however. I am sure the professor would be happy to discuss it with you.'

Harry shook his head vehemently. 'He wouldn't,' he said with certainty. 'He doesn't talk to me about stuff like that.'

'Have you tried?'

Harry shrugged. 'I just know.'

'I see,' Dumbledore said, fixing him again with that frustratingly knowing look. 'It is good to see that you are well, Harry. Though I did not doubt that Professor Snape would be a more than suitable guardian.'

'My ears are burning,' Snape said as he strode into the room, clean-shaven and in a new set of clothes. 'Come, Albus, we should leave. Potter needs more rest.'

'I don't!' Harry objected. 'I only just woke up!'

Snape pinned him with a warning look. 'You will do as I say. I am not spending three more days looking after you because you are too childish to follow reasonable advice.'

Harry frowned at the man but didn't say anything, pouting as he snuggled down into the thick duvet. He was twelve, not two; he could decide whether or not he needed rest. Although, as Snape drew the heavy curtains across the window, his eyelids did begin to feel awfully heavy…

As Harry drifted off to sleep again, he was once more vaguely aware of voices on the periphery of his consciousness.

'… overheard what you said… I did not know you had such faith in my capabilities…'

'Without a doubt… all that remains, my dear boy, is for you to find such faith in yourself…'

* * *

'Please,' Harry pleaded.

'No,' came the curt response.

'_Please,'_ he tried again, his foot knocking against the table leg impatiently. 'I won't be out for long – just a quick jog around the garden. I'll come straight back inside, I promise.'

'I said no,' Snape replied, not looking up from the _Daily Prophet_, 'and if you do not stop that incessant banging, I will quite literally chain your feet to the floor.'

'Fine,' Harry sighed, slumping down in his chair and deliberately placing his feet on the floor with an audible thump. It had been two days since Madam Pomfrey had left him with the 'all-clear', yet Snape had still not let him run, or play in the garden, or even do any chores. He was beginning to get frustrated at the man's confines. He picked up his spoon, tapping it against the edge of his cereal bowl absentmindedly. 'I'm never going to see the light of day again,' he lamented to himself.

'Do not be melodramatic, Potter,' Snape said as he turned the page of his newspaper. 'You know full well that once you are back to full health you will be back to your normal schedule.'

'But I _am _back to full health! Madam Pomfrey said so,' Harry protested. 'Can I not even go for a walk? Just a tiny one? Once around the garden?'

Snape sighed and folded over his newspaper, glaring at Harry. 'Will it stop you whining?'

Harry nodded earnestly.

'Fine,' Snape grumbled, going back to the _Daily Prophet_. 'Be no more than half an hour.'

Harry jumped up from the table, grinning and giddy at the thought of some fresh air.

'Thanks, sir!' he called as he stepped through the back door, looking gleefully around the sunlit garden. For a while he roamed the vegetable patches and flowerbeds, but that soon became boring; he had had more than enough time to become familiar with them over the last few weeks of weeding and pruning.

He passed through the back gate into the spacious clearing, unsure of where to go from there. The idea of doing laps seemed a lot less appealing when he wasn't running, so for a minute he simply stood, taking in the greenery. As much as he tried, Harry could not keep his gaze from straying to the far-left corner, the one that Snape had forbidden him from approaching on his first day at Spinner's End. It was a lot harder to push it from his mind when he was not preoccupied by the task of his morning exercise.

Surely it couldn't hurt to have a quick look. Snape would be none the wiser, and whatever was there couldn't be dangerous if the professor let Ida wander his garden. Looking over his shoulder to check that he was unobserved, Harry tentatively made his way across the clearing towards the corner.

Even up close, it appeared no different to the other three corners, thick with foliage and trees and nothing else. Hesitantly, Harry stuck his foot out in front of him to stamp a path through a small thicket of brambles. His stomach dropped as his foot met no resistance, sinking right though the brambles; they were an illusion!

Perplexed, Harry reached out a hand to a weedy tree in front of him, gasping as his fingers swept straight through. It was _all_ an illusion. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he mustered up the same courage it took to cross the ticket barrier at Kings Cross, and dived headfirst into the trees.

He breathed a sigh of relief as his hands and knees hit solid ground. Opening his eyes, he blinked slowly at his new surroundings. He was in a smaller clearing, the wall of foliage behind him cutting off the rest of Snape's garden. Sun dappled the leafy ground, and above him through the branches he could just about make out a sky far bluer than the one he had left behind. An odd peace rested on the place; the chatter of birds and general thrum of life audible from the large clearing was no longer present, instead replaced by a serene silence.

In the centre of the clearing sat a thick slab of polished black marble, shot through with veins of stark white. There was something engraved across the middle, Harry noted. Curious, he stepped closer, his fingers tracing the words as he read them.

_Patrick Gallagher_

_Malcolm Reid_

_Tobias Snape, Sr._

_We will grieve not, rather find_

_Strength in what remains behind._

_19.07.76_

Harry shuddered, stepping away from the stone. He felt oddly as if he was trespassing on someone's grave; the marble was clearly a monument to those that had died, and he did not feel as if he had the right to be there.

There was something hauntingly familiar about each name. Tobias Snape could only be Snape's father – they shared a surname, after all. Patrick Gallagher, too – had Ida not mentioned that her late son was called Patrick? And Gallagher: that was an Irish name, like Ida's husband. It seemed too much of a coincidence to be anyone else.

And the third name - Reid was definitely Arnie's surname. He remembered the words that the redhead had spat at Snape after opening the door to him – '_not even after what you did to him and my Pa'_.

Harry's eyes widened as he began to put the pieces together. Surely… surely Snape hadn't been responsible for the death of the three men? The man could be cold at times, yes, but he wasn't a murderer. Or was he?

His heart racing, Harry leapt back through the foliage and dashed through the garden towards the house. Grateful to see the kitchen deserted, he darted quietly through the house and out the front door, hopping over the dividing wall onto Ida's porch. He couldn't exactly ask Snape to his face whether he had killed his own father, so he would have to try a different approach to get answers to the questions that were now burning inside him. Hurriedly, he knocked on the door in front of him.

'Harry, love!' Ida said happily as she opened the door, Goliath yapping around her ankles. 'I wasn't expecting you!'

'Ida, I- I'm sorry to bother you, but- but, I just-' Harry stumbled over the words, unsure what to say.

'Calm down, lad, there's no rush.'

'Sorry,' Harry apologised. 'It's just that- I think I saw your son's name on a memorial. In Snape's garden.'

'Ah,' Ida said, giving him a sad smile. 'I think you better come in, duck.'

'Sit yerself down, lad,' she said, once he had followed her into the living room. Harry took a seat in one of the large floral armchairs and Ida took the other. 'Now, you tell me what 'appened.'

'See, I was just walking in the garden,' Harry began, 'and I saw this- this big stone slab with some names on it - one of them was Patrick Gallagher, and I just thought-' Harry stopped talking, suddenly feeling very guilty. 'I'm sorry, Ida,' he said, blushing. 'I didn't think. I shouldn't have come round and started talking about him out of the blue-'

'None o' that, love,' the old lady admonished. 'You saw the memorial, yes?' Harry nodded. 'The memorial is for _remembering _him by. I made peace with my Paddy's passing long ago – when you lose someone, it's often only through remembrance that you find joy. I don't mind talking about the lad – more than that, I enjoy it. Ask away, son.'

'Are you sure?' Harry asked.

Ida nodded, a kindly look on her face.

'Well, I was just wondering what… what happened?' Harry asked hesitantly. 'And why is there a monument to it in Snape's garden?'

'I think yer questions won't be best answered by me, lad,' the women answered. Harry's heart sank, thinking that she was going to suggest he ask Snape, but instead she reached into a cabinet at her side and pulled out a yellowed newspaper clipping. 'Here,' she said, handing it to Harry. 'Give that a read.'

Harry accepted the piece of paper, careful not to damage it.

_Tragedy at the mill! _it read.

_On Monday evening, a tragic fire broke out at Crumpsall Mill, razing the building and claiming the lives of three of the fine men of Cokeworth: Malcolm Reid, 35; Patrick Gallagher, 19; and Tobias Snape, Sr., 41. The sole survivor of the blaze, Tobias Snape, Jr., escaped with minor injuries._

_P. Smith of the Manchester South Fire Department stated 'The cause of the fire remains unknown. We have discovered no discernible source, and it seemingly arose from nowhere.' The Fire Department are appealing for anyone with information to come forward._

Harry read the article again once he had finished it, and once more after that.

'Did they ever find out how the fire happened?' he asked.

Ida shook her head.

'No, love. Everyone was quick to point fingers, mind – mostly at poor Toby.' Ida tutted, shaking her head again. 'I suppose it were because he was the only survivor, but it didn't help that the poor lad was a bit of an odd'un.'

'And what did you think happened?' Harry asked tentatively.

Ida smiled sadly at him once more.

'I tried my best to stay out of the debate. I knew Tobes were a good lad,' she said, 'he wouldn't do anything like that intentionally, an' what had been lost had been lost. Playing a silly blame game wouldn't bring anyone back.'

'Oh,' Harry said, processing all that he had learnt. He didn't want to imagine that Snape had been the cause of the fire, but the evidence was stacking up against him; he had been there – Tobias Snape, Jr., that _must _have been him – and the blaze 'seemingly arose from nowhere'. That sounded suspiciously like magic to Harry. Even Ida, who had known Snape since childhood, didn't seem certain that he hadn't started it.

Before he could ask the woman another question, the front door clattered loudly and Snape himself burst into the living room.

'I knew I heard your voice through the wall,' the man accused, eyeing Harry angrily. 'What in Merlin's name are you doing-' he stopped dead, his eyes widening at the newspaper clipping in Harry's hand.

'The fire…' Harry started, before Snape could say anything, 'it- it was you, wasn't it?'

A horrified expression passed over Snape's face, quickly replaced by cold fury.

'How dare you!' he thundered. 'How _dare_ you make such an accusation!'

Harry froze; Snape never shouted. His stomach doing somersaults, he gave in to the urge that every inch of his body was screaming at him to do. Harry rose from the armchair, pushing past Snape, and ran. He ran, and ran, his feet pounding pavement, then mud, then grass, taking him as far away from Snape and Spinner's End as physically possible.

* * *

**There we go! Thank you so much for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it :)**

**I know that Snape was perhaps slightly out of his cold, stern character in the first half of the chapter, but I feel like after eight chapters of development I could perhaps indulge myself in a little of Severus showing his care for Harry in a more unsubtle way! I hope it wasn't too jarring.**

**I also hope my diversion from canon was readable! JKR never really wrote much about Severus' parents, nor how he lost them, so who knows, maybe my idea of events is accurate ;)**

**All of the lose threads from this chapter will be tied up in the next one, I promise. **

**I really do hope you enjoyed it, and please do leave a review if you get a chance! They genuinely mean a lot. Thank you for reading and have a good day :)**


	10. An Explanation

**Hello! I hope you are all well, especially given the particularly stressful times that we are all currently facing. One of the silver linings of this unfortunate situation is that I am home from uni sooner than anticipated, so can work on this fic – and here is the next chapter! **

**It's not the most action-filled chapter, but does answer a few questions.**

**I really do hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

_Chapter 10 – An Explanation_

Harry felt sick. His heart would not stop pounding as he curled up further into the hollow at the base of the tree, trying to forget what a mess he had made.

He gazed up at the floating branches above him, where the ebb and flow of the summer breeze was making it look almost as if the willow was breathing itself. Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to match the rise and fall of his chest to the rhythmic sway of the tree. Slowly but surely, his heart stopped racing and he began to feel a little calmer.

A twig snapped outside the sanctum of the tree and Harry sat bolt upright, his stomach dropping at the sight of the dark figure behind the branches. Any sense of calmness dissipated. He cursed himself – he had been _sure _that Snape had not been close enough behind him to see him dip inside the tree's canopy.

He looked on warily as the man gently pushed aside the branches and stepped into the hollow.

'Do you really think I would keep you under my roof without putting some kind of tracer wards around the house?' Snape said, his voice surprisingly calm as he answered the unspoken question. At a wave of his wand, a trail of glowing footsteps lit up the mossy floor, leading to Harry.

'Oh,' was all he could reply, slightly deflated. He should have guessed that the professor would have something like that in place.

'Your mother and I used to come here as children, you know.'

Harry looked up wide-eyed at the man, surprised at his nonchalant openness. Snape did not continue, however. Instead, he knelt, brushing away some leaves and taking a seat next to Harry.

'I believe we have some talking to do, Potter,' he said.

Harry looked away, blushing. He suspected that he knew exactly what kind of 'talking' that Snape would want to do.

'M'sorry,' he mumbled.

'For what, precisely?'

'For going in the bit of the garden you told me not to,' Harry replied, wrapping his arms around his knees and hugging them close to his chest. 'And- and for going to Ida's and asking about her son, and for- for asking you about… for asking you a bad question.'

'You most certainly did make some ill-judged decisions, Potter,' Snape said, his tone still calm. 'I am beyond disappointed in you. I expected far more empathy, if towards anyone, for Ida at the very least.'

Harry felt himself going even redder. 'I really am sorry.'

Snape waved away his apology. 'That does not matter right now. I owe you some apologies myself.'

Harry raised his head from where it rested on his knees, confused.

'Firstly, I am sorry for shouting at you,' Snape said. 'It was undeserved on your part and shameful on mine.'

'It's fine,' Harry said, 'my uncle-'

'I am not your uncle,' Snape cut in, 'and you must not use him as a yardstick for judging how people should treat you. You deserve better than that, do you understand me?'

Harry nodded, slightly bewildered.

'Good. Secondly, I am sorry that I have not been completely candid with you,' he continued, 'nor myself, really. Perhaps ignorance is bliss, but denial of events that you know to be true is nothing short of foolishness. You are part of my household – if I am to expect complete openness from you, it is unfair to deny you a reasonable degree from myself.'

The man took a deep breath and sat back ever so slightly before continuing.

'So - I suppose you want to hear about the fire?'

Harry's eyes widened. He knew he should say no; he knew that it would be polite and proper to shake his head and say sorry for prying and never broach the topic again, but something stopped him. Countless questions about Snape's past were still chasing each other around his head, and here was the man himself, sitting next to him on the damp grass and proposing that he answer them all.

He gave a small nod. 'Yes please, sir. If you don't mind.'

The professor's jaw tightened slightly, but he returned Harry's nod. 'Very well.'

'My father was a miller,' he began, 'and milling was all he knew. He had worked the mill at the bottom of our garden since he was a lad, as had his father, and his father's father. And, like all of the sons of the village, every summer when I came home from Hogwarts, I worked the mill too.'

'I detested it,' he continued, his lip curling at the thought. 'My schoolmates spent their holidays playing Quidditch in the gardens of vast mansions, whilst I laboured indoors, working machines so loud that you could barely hear your own thoughts. By the end of the day my shoulders would ache and my ears would ring, my fingers so sore that I could barely hold a wand, and my father…'

A pained look crossed Snape's face.

'My father was not a nice man,' he said. 'He was big and broad, muscled from years in the mill, and his hands… well, his hands were just as skilled at working the milling machinery as they were at inflicting pain upon his family. The man cherished normality, despised what he called 'oddballs'. It is fair to say that the discovery that his wife and son were magical was not taken lightly. My father would decide on a whim that my expression, my posture, my tone of voice was 'wrong', and then… there was no crossing Tobias Snape without punishment.'

'So he _was _called Tobias,' Harry interjected, blushing immediately at his rudeness. 'Sorry,' he said sheepishly, cautiously asking, 'Is that why Ida calls you Toby – after him?'

Snape gave him a bitter smile. 'In a way, yes,' he answered. 'I was born Tobias Severus Snape, named after my father. I am sure you can understand why I no longer go by my first name.'

Harry nodded quickly, shuddering at the thought of how horrible it would be if everyone suddenly started calling him Vernon or Dudley.

'Now, to everyone but determinedly soppy old ladies, I am Severus – a name that came down my mother's line. It is a harsh name from a harsh family, but it is a wizard's name, at least – as far from my father as possible.'

'I think it's an alright name,' Harry said quietly.

Snape raised his eyebrows. 'Thank you, Potter.'

His gaze lingered on Harry for a moment, contemplative, before he continued.

'It was the summer after my fifth year that it happened. I was 16, and I had more friends at school than ever before – the wrong sort of friends, mind, but I was nonetheless more acutely aware of what I was missing out on in the confines of the mill. One evening, I had a particularly explosive argument with my father.'

'It was not too far into the summer holidays. I had been invited to a gathering with friends that evening, but my father would not let me go. The mill had an upcoming deadline and he was working overtime – if he was staying, he said, then I had to stay as well.'

'It started off like any normal argument – they were far from uncommon in my household – but this one was different. I was bigger and stronger, almost his height now, and more confident as well. He pushed and prodded as usual, but I did not submit in the way he was accustomed to.'

Snape paused, wincing.

'My father did not like that. He flew into a rage, shouting terrible insults about me, my school, even my mother. I always prided myself on being able to control my emotions, but this time… it was too much. The anger built up and up inside me until I could no longer control myself; the magic burst from me unbidden. I had done accidental magic before, but this was a far cry from the animated flowers and occasional sparks of my youth. This… it came in the form of searing flames that exploded from my very core. I was quite literally burning with fury.'

'The mill was old,' Snape grimaced, 'and poorly built. The whole building was on fire within minutes. My father looked at me, and his eyes… they were full of fear. That was the only time I remember seeing anything but resentment in them. He ran at me, and the next thing I knew, I was being hurled from the first-floor window.'

'I broke four ribs and an arm, but I survived, thanks to Father.' Snape gave a hollow laugh. 'It seems ironic how his redeeming act was still so violent. My father did not make it out of the mill.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' Harry said, 'about your dad.' He had known from the newspaper article that Tobias did not survive the fire, but that did not make it easier to hear it from Snape himself.

'Do not be,' Snape said. 'It is long in the past.'

'The other names,' Harry began tentatively,' the ones on the monument…'

The man met his gaze, his eyes dark.

'If you don't want to talk about it-'

Snape shook his head. 'I do not mind,' he said. 'I have no memory of hitting the ground, but I do remember waking up. I was groggy and confused, but I knew two things; I was in pain and I was not alone. The residents of Spinner's End had seen the smoke rising from the mill and come to see what had happened. There was a terrible wailing coming from in front of me, where Martha Reid was huddled with her children, and Ida… Ida was standing alone, staring emptily at the charred remains.'

The man paused, a deep sadness resting upon his features.

'I had not known that there were other people left in the mill,' he said. 'Good people, too – people with families of their own. No one survived.'

He paused again, visibly collecting himself, rearranging his face into his usual unreadable countenance.

'Well, there you have it,' he said. 'they never found the cause of the fire, but my mother guessed. She barely spoke to me until her death two years later. I purchased the derelict land where the mill had once stood, erected a monument to those that had passed, and pushed it all as far back in my mind as possible until the fire became only a reality in the whispered gossip of neighbours and dated newspaper clippings in old ladies' filing cupboards.'

Harry was taken aback. Snape had been beyond candid with him; it almost seemed as if the man had got lost in the story himself. All of Harry's questions had been answered, and yet he no longer cared about that – instead, the pain evident on Snape's face as he recounted the tale had elicited a deep and unshakable sympathy in Harry, and his curiosity had been pushed aside by worry for the man.

'You know, it wasn't your fault, sir – the fire,' he said. 'You don't need to feel bad about it anymore.'

* * *

The boy's innocent words caught Severus off guard. He smiled sadly at the naïve yet sincere statement that only a child like Potter could deliver. If only it was that simple.

'I came to terms with what I did a long time ago, Potter,' he said gently. 'You need not worry. I think that it is within my rights to feel bad, though. You know what it is like to live with the knowledge that your parents are gone, yes? Imagine the guilt you would feel should you know that you caused their loss.'

Potter looked away, the tips of his ears turning red. He mumbled something into his sleeve.

'Use your words properly, boy,' Severus said, puzzled by the child's reaction.

'I used to.'

'You used to what?'

'Think it was my fault,' Potter finished. 'Aunt Petunia told me that my mum and dad died in a car crash – that it was probably my fault for distracting them, or something…'

He tailed off. Severus clenched his fists, rage boiling in the pit of his stomach. That bitch_, _he thought, that _bitch_ and her bastard of a husband. How could they let a child so innocent believe that he had killed his own parents? He had always known that Petunia was bitter and caustic, but this… how could she possible be related to Lily?

'You don't think that anymore, do you, Potter?' he asked. 'That it was your fault?'

Potter looked away quickly, but not before Severus noticed the tears beginning to spill from his eyes.

'Look at me, Potter,' Severus said, but the boy only burrowed his face further into his arms, his cheeks flushing redder. Severus felt his resolve crumble; this was yet another burden that a child his age had no right to be carrying. 'Look at me, please, Harry.'

The boy's first name slipped past his lips. Potter lifted his head slightly in surprise, and Severus took the opportunity, placing his fingers gently under the child's chin and lifting it to meet his gaze.

'You listen to me, and you listen closely,' he said firmly. 'You were _in no way _responsible for the death of your parents. How could you possibly believe that still?'

Potter shrugged, to which Severus raised an eyebrow.

'A verbal response, please.'

'I can't… I don't know,' Potter said, sniffing. 'Maybe- maybe if I wasn't there, Mum and Dad could have fought better… maybe if they weren't worrying about me, they would have survived- or maybe-'

'Not good enough reasons,' Severus said, cutting off the child's rambling. He felt absolute pity for the boy, but he knew that he needed to be firm to drill the notion out of Potter's head. 'What you are feeling has got a name – survivor's guilt. Have you heard of that before?'

Potter shook his head.

'It describes when people feel guilty for surviving horrible situations where others did not,' he explained, 'and it is the worst kind of guilt because it is the least deserved, because all you did was the best thing that you could have possibly done – survive. And if you had not survived, then you would not have gone to Hogwarts and made the friends that you have done, nor would you have been able to spend all of your summer making a grumpy old man even grumpier by trampling on his cabbages and breaking his flowerpots and being a downright nuisance in his Potions laboratory, would you?'

Despite himself, Potter gave a small grin. 'You're not old, sir.'

'You make me feel like an octogenarian, boy,' Severus grumbled affably. More seriously, he continued, 'Had you not survived, I am certain that your parents would be looking down upon the world from wherever they may be far more distraught to see that it is lacking their son. Your survival resulted in many good things, Potter, but it most certainly _did not _cause your parents' deaths – is that clear?'

The boy nodded. Severus raised a stern eyebrow again.

'Yes, sir,' Potter amended his response. Deciding that it was suitably earnest, Severus released the child's chin.

'Good.'

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before the boy spoke up with a quiet 'Snape?'.

'Yes, Potter?'

'Thanks.'

Severus looked at the boy questioningly. 'For what?'

'For talking,' Potter said, 'about… everything.'

Severus nodded his understanding. 'Have you any more questions about what we have discussed?'

Potter thought about it for a minute. 'The monument in your garden,' he said, 'the one in the corner-'

'Where I told you not to go,' Severus finished sardonically. 'Yes, I know the one. What about it?'

'Do Ida and Arnie know about it?'

'Mr Reid does not,' he answered. 'He would not want to set foot on my property even if he did. Ida knows, however. Why do you think she walks her dog in my garden?'

Potter raised his eyebrows. 'She passes through the illusion?'

'She does,' Severus nodded. 'The old have a particular talent for accepting the novelties of the world without question.'

'So she knows you're a wizard?'

'I doubt it, Potter. Ida knows me for who I am, and that is all – she is one of the rare kind of people that can accept all the aspects of a person without trying to assemble them into a greater picture and slot them into presumed contexts.'

The boy looked up at him. 'You know you're allowed to call me Harry when we're at home,' he said, 'it's not school. And… and I'd quite like it if you did.'

Severus held the boy's gaze, filled with an unexpected warmth that he thought of Spinner's End as home. He placed an arm around the child's shoulder and pulled him to his side, the once awkward gesture now almost natural.

'I know, Harry,' he said. 'It just might take a bit of getting used to.'

The boy did not resist his hug, resting his head on Severus' shoulder, and the two sat in quiet company for a long time. By the time they left the hollow, the summer sun had disappeared behind dark clouds and a fine drizzle had begun to fall. Potter shivered involuntarily.

'You're cold,' Severus observed.

'I'm fine.'

'It was not a question.'

Severus unzipped his fleece and wrapped it around Potter's shoulders.

'I didn't need that,' Potter pouted.

'It was for my own sake,' Severus said, 'Madam Pomfrey would have me hung, drawn and quartered if you were to fall ill again.'

'I'd actually quite like to see that,' Potter said, moving to shrug off the fleece. 'Sounds interesting.'

'Don't you dare,' Severus threatened, tapping the back of the fleece with his wand. The zip flew up to the top of the zipper, closing the fleece all the way up to the boy's nose. 'Much better,' he said, satisfied with his work, ignoring the child's muffled cries. 'Some peace and quiet.'

'L'me out!'

'I'm struggling to hear any manners…''

'_Pl'se!'_

'Fine.' Done with his fun, Severus tapped the fleece again.

'That was uncalled for.'

Severus smirked at how much disgruntled indignation the boy managed to radiate whilst drowning in an oversized fleece.

'Much like your cheek,' he replied. 'Come, let us get home before you are soaked through.'

* * *

'Potter,' Severus called, rapping his knuckles on the bathroom door. He sighed; the boy was taking so long that he must surely be cleaning the entire room with his toothbrush. 'It is already past your bedtime,' he said through the door. No response.

'_Harry,'_ he tried. Instantly, the door swung open.

'You're meant to brush for at least two minutes,' Potter said, grinning at him innocently. 'It's so that the toothpaste gets everywhere in your mouth.'

'Evidently so,' Severus said, frowning, 'you have toothpaste all over your face.'

Potter shrugged and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. 'You didn't have to wait outside, anyway. The bathroom window's too small for me to escape through,' he said cynically.

'And what is that supposed to mean?'

'You've been watching me like a hawk all afternoon. I'm not going to run off again, you know.'

Severus raised an eyebrow. He had indeed spent the afternoon gardening with the boy instead of working, but that had been mostly because Severus himself needed the time to relax after the stress of the morning. He had definitely not made a conscious effort to watch over the Potter more than usual.

'I did nothing of the sort, Harry,' he said. 'Keeping an eye on you is part of the job description of being your guardian. I still trust you. Now, _bed.'_

Seemingly satisfied, the boy hopped past him and up the ladder to his bedroom. Severus followed close behind.

'Where's Hedwig?' he asked, noticing the empty cage as he entered the room.

'She's taking a letter to Ron,' Potter answered, jumping into bed. 'Him and Hermione have been trying to guess where I'm staying, since I told them that I'm not living with the Dursleys anymore.'

'And have they had any luck?'

Potter laughed. 'No. Ron's convinced I'm living with Dumbledore, and Mione's thoroughly researched it and decided that I'm a ward of the ministry.'

Severus chuckled. 'I doubt they would believe the truth if they heard it.'

'I don't think they would. Can I tell them when we go back to school?'

Severus contemplated the request. 'You may,' he said eventually, 'but it is imperative that only they know. No one else can find out.'

_If the Dark Lord ever did return_, Severus thought, _it would not do to have the fact that I am Harry Potter's guardian as common knowledge_.

'They wouldn't tell anyone if I asked them not to,' Potter said with certainty. He paused, blushing slightly. 'Can I ask you another question?'

'You may.'

'Why didn't you… you know, get angry with me for this afternoon?'

'Are you asking why you are not sleeping on your stomach tonight?' Severus clarified, amused by the boy's wording. His amusement only grew as Potter turned positively scarlet.

'No! I mean, well, yes,' he spluttered. 'I went in the part of the garden that you told me not to, then I went to Ida's house without asking, and then I ran away from you. You said how disappointed you were earlier, and usually you'd get angry if I did even one of those things.'

'Well, when you list them off like that,' Severus said, swinging the desk chair round so it was next to Potter's bed and taking a seat, 'it does sound quite serious…'

Potter scooted up the bed, eyeing him warily.

'I am not going to punish you tonight, Harry,' Severus said. The boy visibly relaxed. 'You must understand _why _I punish you - it is not because I am angry, like you say. It is so that you _learn, _so that you do not make the same mistake again in a place where it would have greater consequences.'

'When I caught up with you today, you were already repentant,' he continued. 'You told me what you had done wrong, and you apologised with no prompting. To punish you would not have been a learning opportunity – instead, it would have made you more unhappy in a situation where you were already distressed. It was far from a simple act of disobedience or rule-breaking. Although,' Severus lightened his tone, 'if you are saying that you _want _me to-'

'Nope, I'm fine,' Potter interrupted, shaking his head vehemently. 'I think I understand.'

'Good,' Severus said. 'Although, do not go thinking that you will get off with no consequences if you apologise straight away in the future. Today was an exception.'

'I know.'

'Very well. I do, however, expect you to apologise to Ida tomorrow.'

'I was going to do that anyway,' the boy said earnestly. 'I thought – if it's alright with you – maybe I could bake her a cake or something?'

Warmed by the child's sincerity, Severus replied, 'Yes, that sounds like a good idea.'

Potter grinned at him in response, before yawning widely.

'I think it is time you get some sleep,' Severus said. 'Do not pout at me. You have had a long day.'

Shooting him a sulky look, Potter shuffled down under his covers so that only his mop of black hair was visible.

'Goodnight, Harry,' Severus said.

'Night, sir,' the duvet replied.

As Severus turned off the light and quietly left the room, his thoughts drifted far away to another child with an equally emerald gaze.

_The dark-haired boy glared at the drooping willow branch, furiously willing it to move to his command. Sure enough, the wispy leaves danced lower and lower, brushing the back of the redhead's neck._

'_Stop it, Sev,' she giggled. 'You know how ticklish I am!'_

_Severus grinned. He couldn't help but join in with her contagious giggling._

'_Why d'you think I did it, Lil?' _

'_You're mean,' Lily replied, wriggling away from the persistent plant. 'Make it stop!'_

_Deciding that he'd had enough fun, Severus glared again at the willow tree, this time willing it to stop. He had no success._

'_Erm…'_

'_It's not stopping, Sev!' Lily exclaimed, red in the face from laughing._

_Opting for the only solution that came to mind, Severus launched himself at the mischievous branches, slightly misjudging his angle and taking the redhead down instead._

_His back hit solid ground hard and his long hair flopped back from his forehead. Lily was lying on top of him, limbs tangled in his own. __She pulled away from him, her gaze calculating. _

'_You look nice with your hair back, you know.'_

'_What d'you mean?'_

'_I don't know,' she said. 'You look… kinder.'_

_Severus screwed up his face. 'Since when did you become a hairdresser?'_

'_Shut up,' Lily said amicably. She pushed herself up off Severus and rolled over so that she was lying on the grass next to him. _

'_Sev?' she said after a few minutes of companionable silence._

'_Yeah?'_

'_Do you think you want to have children? When you're older?'_

_Severus shook his head immediately. 'No. No way. A little brat would just get in the way of things. Why, would you?'_

'_Yeah, definitely,' Lily said. 'I think it would be nice to be a mum to someone – to have someone that you can give every bit of your love to.'_

_Severus thought about it for a while. When Lily put it like that, he supposed it did sound quite nice._

'_Maybe I could have a child,' he said eventually. 'Just one though, I think – yeah, a son.'_

_The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. _

'_Yeah, definitely a son,' he repeated. 'But I wouldn't mind what he was like, you know.' He thought about his own father, and the iron fist with which he ruled his household. 'I wouldn't mind if he liked books or if he liked sports. I don't even think I'd mind if he was a squib. Just as long as he was kind, and caring too, and he let me show him how to be a good person. Yeah, I think I'd like that.'_

_He turned his head to meet Lily's gaze and they both grinned at the absurdity of their conversation. _

'_Maybe not for a few years,' Severus said. _

'_No, I think I'd quite like to stay a child for as long as I can,' Lily agreed, an impish glint in her eye._

_Severus opened his mouth to reply but noticed something in the corner of his eye. He spun around to see several willow branches poised to tickle him._

'_Not fair!' he said, laughing and dodging the branches. 'You distracted me!'_

_Lily laughed and the two children were soon embroiled in a willow tree tickle war, their conversation long forgotten._

* * *

**There we go! I hope you enjoyed it :) **** We'll be back on the general trajectory of the story soon, but I feel like Severus and Harry definitely needed to sit and have a discussion. I know that it was a very dialogue-heavy chapter, but I hope it was readable enough.**

**Please do leave a review if you have a chance – even the critical ones honestly mean the world to me. I can't say how grateful I am to those of you that regularly take the time to do it. Don't worry if you haven't got time, though!**

**I hope you and your families are all safe and well wherever you are. I also hope you're all social distancing – public health guidance relies on the public complying, and by doing so we can save lives! Those of you in the hardest hit countries have my absolute sympathies x**

**Until next time :)**


	11. Diagon Alley

**Hiya, I hope you're all well - here's the next chapter! I would have got it out sooner, but I had **_**major **_**writer's block on the last section.**

**It's one of the longer ones, but I hope you still enjoy it :) **

**Warning: This chapter contains corporal punishment. If that is something that upsets you, or you simply do not enjoy reading it, **_**please **_**do not go any further. Thanks!**

* * *

_Chapter 11 - Diagon Alley_

'Only two leaves of mint, Harry,' Severus directed.

'I know,' the boy said, continuing to sprinkle the third leaf into his burn-soothing draught.

'And so you are adding three because…'

'I was just experimenting a bit,' Harry said, blushing slightly. 'The notes say that the potion leaves a sting in the area it's applied to, so I thought if I added a bit more mint it might help, you know, 'cause it's got cooling properties.'

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'That is not an unreasonable idea,' he said, casting an appraising glance at the child. Harry had certainly taken to Potions far better than he had expected. It was unsurprising, given his mother's skill, but each success the boy had in the Potions laboratory made Severus feel a little more ashamed about his own failings as a teacher during his first year. 'Ask me first next time - you well know that potion-making is a fine scale that can be tipped by even a single mint leaf. But there is nothing wrong with experimenting.'

The boy beamed at him and picked up the stirrer, meticulously rotating it three times before placing it down and closing his textbook.

'If you are done, bottle it and put it on the shelf,' Severus instructed. 'We must have dinner soon if you are to get an early bedtime.'

'What- but, _sir! _I haven't done anything wrong!'

'I know that,' Severus said, shutting down the expected protestations, 'but I want you up early in the morning. We are going to Diagon Alley tomorrow.'

The boy's face lit up, the horror of an early bedtime instantly forgotten.

'What for?' he asked excitedly. 'Can we go to Florean Fortescue's? And Quality Quidditch Supplies?'

'It is strictly business, I am afraid – we have your school supplies to collect, and I must visit the apothecary. If we finish early, however, I am sure we can fit in a trip to Florean's.'

'_School _supplies?' the boy repeated incredulously. 'But we still have…' He paused. Severus could almost see the cogs working behind his eyes. 'One week!' he said finally. 'There's only one week left 'til we go back to Hogwarts.'

'Quite right,' Severus said, 'which is why we must get to Diagon Alley early tomorrow if we want to beat the crowds.'

Harry stuck out his lower lip. 'Fine. But I still want to read before bed.'

'The faster you tidy up, the more likely that is to happen.'

Severus watched in amusement as the boy busied himself with clearing away the Potions equipment in a comically hurried manner.

'Be careful that you do not spill anything,' he warned.

The child shot him a stroppy look as if to say 'I _was _being careful', to which Severus returned a warning glance.

'Yes, sir,' came the amended response. Harry stoppered his bottle and cautiously placed it on the shelf.

'Very good,' Severus said once the workspace was clean. He stood up and started towards the ladder leading upstairs. 'Let us go and make a start on tea.'

Harry followed close behind him.

'Won't it be a bit obvious that you're my guardian if I'm following you around Diagon Alley tomorrow?' he asked as he mounted the ladder.

'Do not worry about that,' Severus replied. 'I have a plan.'

* * *

Harry tugged at his fur collar uncomfortably. He was not sure how much he liked Snape's plan; maybe the glamour was necessary to hide his identity, but surely the outfit was not.

Sighing, he ran his eyes over his new appearance in the mirror. His dark hair was now light brown and slicked back against his head, and his round glasses had been replaced by horn-rimmed ones. His nose was a little straighter, his jaw slightly more square, and his eyes were a deep brown instead of their usual green. Snape had not made many changes with the glamour, but when Harry looked in the mirror, it was as if a completely different boy was staring back.

'Stop fiddling with the collar, Harry. It is beginning to look unkempt.'

Harry sighed again. 'Sorry,' he said dejectedly to the professor, looking back in the mirror at his clothing. The red cloak was uncomfortably heavy, and the fur around the rim had an awful itch to it. 'I don't get why I have to wear the uniform. It's the holidays.'

'Durmstrang is not just a school, it is a way of life. If you are to truly look convincing, you must wear the uniform – they are rarely seen out of it,' Snape answered. Looking far too amused for Harry's liking, he added, 'Besides, I think it suits you.'

Harry glared at the man, shifting the heavy robe uncomfortably on his shoulders.

'Isn't there some sort of summer uniform?' he asked hopefully.

'That _is _the summer uniform,' Snape replied, smirking. 'If you are done whining, we best be off.'

'Fine,' Harry acquiesced. 'How are we getting there?'

'Via the Floo Network. Have you used it before?'

Harry shook his head.

'I think you will enjoy it more than apparition. Come, follow me.'

He followed Snape into the living room and watched as the man picked up a small ceramic pot and plunged his hand into it.

'Hand out,' Snape ordered. Harry complied, and the man sprinkled a handful of what looked like ash into his hand. 'This is Floo powder. Simply toss it into the fireplace, step into the flames and speak the name of your destination.'

At Harry's wide-eyed look, he added, 'It is perfectly safe, I assure you. The flames will not hurt you, and as long as you speak the name of your destination clearly and keep your elbows tucked in, you will be perfectly fine.'

Slightly reassured by Snape's explanation but still not altogether convinced, Harry closed his hand around the Floo powder and looked tentatively at the fireplace.

'Can we do it together?' he asked. He could have sworn a small smile ghosted the man's lips at his question, but Snape shook his head.

'No – Floo travel is only equipped for one person at a time,' the professor answered. 'You will go first so I can be sure that you have done it correctly, but I will be close behind you. There will be a Floo operator at the other end to make you sure are alright. Are you ready?'

Harry looked once more at the fireplace, and then back at Snape, nodding. 'Think so.'

'Very well. Throw down the powder – that's it – and step into the fireplace.'

Hesitantly, Harry placed one foot into the emerald flames, and, discovering that the heat was entirely bearable, stepped fully into the brick fireplace.

'Good. Now, say Diagon Alley, and remember – _speak clearly.'_

Taking one last look at Snape's expectant expression, Harry enunciated 'Diagon Alley' as best he could. The effect was instantaneous; one moment he was looking out on the familiar surroundings of Spinner's End, and the next hundreds of other living rooms were whizzing past at a dizzying speed, each too blurry to make out any real detail. Finally, he was spat out of the fireplace, stumbling onto solid ground.

'There you go, love – that's it, you're alright,' a kind voice said. He felt steadying hands on his shoulders, and he looked up to see a middle-aged woman in front of him, smiling brightly. She was clad in bright blue robes with 'FLOO SUPPORT' emblazoned across the chest. 'First time in the Floo, is it, dear?'

'Erm, yeah,' Harry said, trying to gather his thoughts. 'It's, um… it's fast.'

'It certainly is, my dear. We've got the fastest Floo connection in the country here in Diagon Alley!' she said proudly. 'Whereabouts have you come from, then? Have you got someone following behind?'

'Well, I, erm…' Harry froze, his mind going completely blank as he searched for the details of the cover story that Snape had given him. Before the witch could ask another question, however, a firm hand closed down on his shoulder.

'He is with me.'

The witch's eyes widened, flickering ever so slightly with fear.

'Professor Snape!' she exclaimed. 'My apologies - I didn't mean to pry, I just-'

'Not to worry,' Snape cut her off, his tone business-like. 'But if you do not mind, we will be off. There is business to attend to.'

'Not at all!' the witch gushed. Nodding in acknowledgement, Snape turned on his heel and stalked off down the street. Harry said a hurried 'Thank you!' to her and followed close behind, jogging a little to catch up with the professor.

'Well done,' Snape said quietly once Harry was by his side. 'Not everyone ends up at the right destination on their first attempt.'

'You mean I could have ended up anywhere?' Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

'Usually the fault in pronunciation is only small so you come out somewhere nearby, but in principle, yes,' Snape replied. Lowering his voice, he added, 'On my first attempt, I popped out in a family living room four streets down from where I intended. Luckily, the room was empty, but I am fairly sure that I scared the hamster so terribly that it dropped down dead.'

Harry grinned, trying to hold in a laugh. He knew that Snape had an appearance to maintain out in the wizarding world, but he appreciated that the man was not too different from how he was at home when only Harry was in earshot.

'Where are we going first?' he asked curiously.

'Flourish and Blotts. That will get busiest fastest, so we had best get it out of the way first.'

'Okay.'

As they walked in companionable silence down the bustling street, he cast a sideways glance at Snape. It had been almost a week since he had found the monument in the man's garden, and it had without a doubt been his best week at Spinner's End so far. Harry did not know why, but the discussion under the willow tree seemed to have dissolved much of the remaining awkwardness between him and Snape; the man had been far more ready with his praise and selective with his scolding over the past week, and Harry had not found himself over the professor's lap even once.

'Severus!' a great voice boomed out across the street, jolting Harry from his musings. He watched uncertainly as a tall man with long blond hair appeared from the crowd, stepping towards them and swinging a thin black cane by his side.

'Lucius,' Snape responded, a tight smile on his face. 'Good to see you, friend. And you too, Draco.'

Harry's heart dropped as the blond Slytherin stepped out from behind the older man, but he relaxed slightly when he remembered that the glamour upon him rendered him unrecognisable.

'Hi, Uncle Sev,' Malfoy said to Snape. 'We've just been to Quality Quidditch Supplies. Father said-'

'Enough, Draco,' Lucius scolded, 'your godfather does not want to hear your boasts. And we talked about that childish nickname.'

The boy's pale skin flushed red.

'Sorry, Father.'

'You would do well to keep your mouth closed,' the blond man said, frowning at his son. He turned back to Snape. 'And who is this?' he asked, gesturing at Harry. 'A nephew of yours, Severus?'

'Second cousin,' Snape clarified. 'This is Gideon. He is staying with me whilst his parents are away.'

'Very good – and a Durmstrang, too, I see,' Lucius observed approvingly. 'Bellatrix and I were of the opinion that Draco should attend there himself, but Cissa would have none of it – you know how soft she is on the boy. Mind, I do not know if he has a strong enough constitution to last at a school like Durmstrang, anyway.'

Lucius barked out a laugh. Harry did not miss how Malfoy wilted slightly at his father's words.

'Speaking of Bella,' the man continued lowly, 'she visited last week with news. Apparently, the Potter boy is no longer living with muggles, and you know as well as I do what that means-'

Lucius stopped himself, turning his gaze to his son, who was listening intently.

'Is it not clear that this is not a conversation for your ears?' he said, his tone harsh. He gave the back of the boy's calves a careless flick with his cane. 'Off with you, Draco. Entertain yourself sensibly and be back within half an hour.'

Snape nodded at Harry. 'You too, Gideon. Go with Draco. Do not leave Diagon Alley.'

Deflated, both boys walked away, leaving the men to their conversation.

'You know anything good to do around here?' Malfoy asked once they were sufficiently far away.

'Not really,' Harry shrugged, not too thrilled at the prospect of spending half an hour with the Slytherin. 'I've only been here once before.'

The grey-eyed boy shot him an appraising look.

'You don't sound much like I'd have thought a Durmstrang would sound,' he said suspiciously.

'My parents are English,' Harry said, shrugging again.

'Oh,' Malfoy accepted. 'Well, I know something fun that we can do. Follow me.'

The blond boy set off at a jog and Harry followed close behind, trying not to lose him as he weaved through the crowds. He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach; he knew Draco Malfoy, and he suspected that the Slytherin's idea of fun was quite different to Harry's own. Sure enough, when Malfoy finally stopped, it was next to a dingy alleyway. A sign was pinned above its shadowy entrance that read '_This way to Knockturn Alley'. _

'It's just down here,' Malfoy said, pointing into its murky depths.

'I don't know about this. Severus said that I couldn't leave Diagon Alley.'

Snape's first name felt strange on Harry's tongue, but the man had instructed him to use it when referring to him.

'I didn't realise they let _babies _into Durmstrang,' Malfoy sneered.

Harry frowned, irritation rising in his stomach. 'I don't think your father would be too pleased if you went down there, either.'

Sure enough, the sneer melted off Malfoy's face.

'What my father thinks is none of your business,' the boy said coldly. 'He won't find out, anyway. And Knockturn Alley is _technically _just an extension of Diagon Alley, so really you're allowed to go down there.'

'Fine,' Harry said. He was certain that Snape would not be satisfied by that technicality, but he was not about to look like a coward in front of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy grinned at him, ducking into the alleyway, and, furtively looking over his shoulder, Harry followed.

Knockturn Alley itself was just as seedy as the dim alleyway had suggested it would be. It was far emptier than Diagon Alley; the only people occupying the street were shifty traders manning dilapidated stalls and unsavoury-looking characters dipping in between the shops. None of that seemed to bother Malfoy, however. The blond boy darted down the grimy street past the gloomy shopfronts until he came to another side-alley.

'Down here!' he said excitedly, gesturing for Harry to follow him. The narrow passage opened up into a small square, where the sun had just about managed to break through the crowded roofs above and was throwing a little more light on their surroundings. The square was busier than the alley had been, and a large ring of people were gathered in the centre.

'Here,' Malfoy said, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him behind a stack of crates. 'Look – over there.'

Peering above the crates just enough that he could see what the Slytherin was pointing at, Harry gasped. In the centre of the crowd, an old man was stood in between two small braziers, narrating some old story about a princess. He waved his hands as he spoke and the flames leapt up from each fire, crashing into each other and taking shape. One minute, they twirled delicately around each other as the man spoke of how the princess was courted by a stranger at the ball, and the next they raged and leapt with the form of a tiger as he told of the stranger's transformation into a terrible beast.

'Wow,' Harry breathed.

'Cool, isn't it,' Malfoy agreed. Harry turned to see the blond smiling at him, and he couldn't help but grin back. This was _definitely _cool.

They watched the rest of the performance in silence, captivated by the fiery story. Mesmerised by the fluidity with which the glowing shapes moved, Harry found that he was terribly disappointed when it ended.

'I think that was the best one I've seen,' Malfoy said. 'I bet you're glad that you came down Knockturn Alley now.'

'I am,' Harry admitted honestly. 'Why did we have to hide, though? Isn't it better up close?'

'Yeah, but you've got to _pay _to watch it up close.' Malfoy made a face of disgust. 'That old man would never see us down here anyway.'

'Is that so, little man?' came a deep voice from behind them. The pair swung around in horror to see the old man standing right in front of them, looking terribly broad and not so old up close. Malfoy turned as white as a sheet and Harry edged back nervously, his heart sinking as his heel bumped into the crates that were piled behind them, blocking their escape.

'Might I enquire as to what two fine young gentlemen like yourselves are doing in a place like this?' the man asked, a scary edge to his words.

'Well, you see,' Malfoy spluttered, 'we were just walking by when my pet cat-'

'We were watching the show, sir,' Harry said, elbowing Malfoy to get him to shut up. He ignored the blond's astonished glare. 'We're really sorry, but we don't have any money on us to pay for it, and your performance was so good that we just couldn't leave.'

The man raised a surprised eyebrow at him.

'Well, that _is _high praise,' he said derisively. He looked the pair up and down, his eyes lingering on Malfoy's expensive belt. 'Even if you don't have the money on you, your parents certainly will. How about we go and find them and tell them _just _how much you enjoyed the show.'

Harry didn't think it would be possible for his heart to sink any further, but somehow, it did. Snape was going be so disappointed.

'I don't think you want to meet our parents,' Malfoy threatened, his voice wavering. 'My father-'

'Oh, I know exactly who your father is, little Malfoy,' the old man said, chuckling. 'And I know _exactly_ what high standards he holds his pureblood family to.'

Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for Malfoy. Abjectly miserable, the blond did not even protest when the man grabbed both of them by the collar and proceeded to drag them back to Diagon Alley, towards their impending doom.

* * *

Severus nodded along politely to Lucius' tirade about blood traitors, barely listening as he processed all that the man had said. The fact that the remaining followers of the Dark Lord were aware of Harry's move from the muggle community to the magical one did not bode well; now that they knew that he was being sheltered by wizards, and therefore within reach, he had no doubt that their feelers would begin to extend, searching for who was housing the boy.

And if they found out that it was Severus… well, at the very least, he would lose his position as a spy, and at the most, he would lose everything.

A slight commotion behind Lucius drew Severus from his gloomy thoughts. The crowd on the street parted to reveal an older man clad in grubby robes dragging two boys behind him, one with white-blond hair and a dismal expression, and the other wearing considerably dusty Durmstrang robes and an even more miserable countenance. Severus sighed wearily.

'Lucius,' he interrupted, nodding over the man's shoulder at the scene. The blond turned around, his brow furrowing in anger.

'Unhand my son this instant,' he ordered. 'Get your filthy hands off him!'

'Gladly,' the man said, grinning sourly. He let go of Draco's collar, giving him a little push so that the child stumbled towards his father. Severus folded his arms and watched as Harry followed Draco to stand by Severus' side, keeping his head down.

'Would you care to explain why you found in necessary to manhandle these boys in such a loutish manner?' Lucius demanded.

The old man was far shorter than the imposing Malfoy patriarch, but to his credit, he did not falter under Lucius' famously harsh glare.

'I found them cowering behind some crates. They were trying to watch my performance without paying.'

Lucius straightened, turning his cold gaze upon his son.

'Is this true, Draco?'

'Yes, Father,' came the boy's reply, barely above a whisper.

'I see,' Lucius said, his jaw tightening. He reached into his pocket and drew out a few knuts. 'Here,' he said, flicking them towards the man, who scrambled to pick them up as they scattered on the cobbles. 'Take this as apology for my son's behaviour, and know that the Malfoy family _always_ pays what is due, as is appropriate for a Pureblood family of high standing.'

'Of course,' the man said once he had gathered the coins, smiling ingratiatingly. 'You are too kind, sir.'

'Here, on behalf of my boy,' Severus added. He extended his hand out to the old man and pressed a sickle into his palm, casting a glance at Harry. 'He knows better.'

As the man grasped his hand and uttered his thanks, Severus noticed Harry's cheeks flush red and his head dropping lower. Good – the boy had outright disobeyed him and put himself in a dangerous situation. If Severus had to hammer in his disappointment to make sure it did not happen again, then it was worth it.

Once the man had melted back into the crowds of Diagon Alley, Lucius turned back to him.

'Whilst it is unfortunate to cut our chance meeting short, Severus, I fear that Draco and I must depart.' The blond looked at his son, his lip curling in disgust. 'There is a _discussion _to be had.'

Severus nodded. 'It was good to see you, old friend,' he said, adding, 'You too, Draco. Hopefully next time it can be in happier circumstances.'

Draco gave him a weak smile, his eyes still lingering on the black cane that his father carried, which was currently being held in a white-knuckle grip. 'See you at Hogwarts, sir.'

Severus watched the pair depart, silently praying that Lucius would not be too harsh on his son. Once the Malfoys had disappeared, he turned to the boy next to him.

'I assume that you met that gentleman down Knockturn Alley?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said quietly, biting his lip. 'Malfoy did say that it was technically an extension of Diagon Alley, so…'

He tailed off as Severus raised an eyebrow.

'Did you really believe that?'

'No,' the boy said, shaking his head miserably. 'I… I knew it was wrong.'

'And yet you still did it,' Severus said, frowning. 'You really _do_ know better.'

The child said nothing, looking dejectedly at his feet.

'Well, we may as well not waste our trip,' he continued. 'We shall deal with your little escapade when we get home.'

What followed was the most bleak shopping trip that Severus had ever experienced. They completed all of their errands in almost complete silence; Severus was too disappointed in the boy to find the energy to try and entertain conversation, and Harry simply trailed miserably behind him. It was almost a relief when they eventually left the final shop and could head back towards the Floo station.

'Good trip, dear?' the Floo witch asked as she held out a handful of Floo powder to Harry.

'Yeah, thanks,' he replied quietly, accepting the powder. Severus watched as the boy stepped into the wide fireplace and disappeared in a rush of jade flames, trying to push down the feeling of guilt in his stomach. _It is not your fault that the boy is miserable, _he told himself. _He knew the consequences, and he wilfully put himself in a position where he must receive them._

'Don't worry about him too much, sir,' the witch reassured him jovially, pulling him from his thoughts. 'I must see hundreds of little ones looking as glum as your lad did every day. It's the shopping - tires them right out!'

'You are probably right,' Severus said, returning her smile politely. He took a handful of Floo powder and thanked the witch. He stepped into the flames, watching with disinterest as the various scenes whizzed past him. When his own living room finally came into view, he saw Harry sitting on the arm of the sofa, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves and looking no less dejected.

The boy jumped up when he noticed Severus' arrival, looking up at him nervously.

'Go to your room and get changed. I want you in the corner of my office ten minutes from now.'

Harry nodded and sped off towards the staircase. Severus watched him go, steeling himself for what he must do. It was never easy to punish the boy; even during their time at Hogwarts, when Harry had been nothing more than a nuisance to him, Severus had struggled to maintain his conviction when dealing with him. Now that he held guardianship over the child, and, dare he say it, _cared _about him, it was far harder to deliver the necessary consequences.

Nevertheless, Harry had deliberately disobeyed him, and Severus must be consistent in his response. Sighing, he pushed open his office door and sat at the desk, busying himself with tidying the parchment that lay spread across its surface.

The knock came no more than five minutes later.

'Enter.'

The door swung open to reveal the boy, now clad in a simple T-shirt and shorts instead of the heavy Durmstrang robes. Severus nodded to the corner and returned to his work, picking up a quill. Pausing in thought for a moment, he dipped the nib in ink and set about scrawling his letter on the blank parchment.

_Albus, _he started.

_I hope you are well. It has come to my attention that the remaining Death Eaters are aware of Mr Potter's removal from the muggles. I do not like to write with bad news, but I assumed that you would want to know._

_I have strengthened the wards around my house and will continue to take the utmost precautions._

_Regards,_

_S.S._

Satisfied with the message, he folded the parchment, melting a little ink over where the edges met and stamping it with Albus' secrecy seal so that only the headmaster would be able to open it. Once it was dry, he picked up the letter and unlatched the window, whistling lowly.

It was not long before the flapping of wings signalled the owl's arrival. Severus reached out a hand, scratching under her chin as she settled herself on the windowsill. She was not his owl, per se, but they had a mutual respect; Severus had first encountered her when he had only been a teenager, and she had stuck around Spinner's End ever since, presumably drawn to his magic. He had never named her, however; she was still very much a wild creature, albeit a majestic one, and to do so would have felt almost disrespectful.

She held out her claw to him as she had done many times before, and he tied the letter to it, giving her another affectionate scratch before she flew away. Severus' gaze lingered on his garden for a while after the owl had disappeared into the distance, his thoughts far away, but eventually he took pity on the boy in the corner and shut the window.

'Sit down,' he ordered, taking his own seat behind the desk. Harry hurried to comply. 'Explain to me _exactly _what happened.'

He listened carefully as Harry recounted the story. As he had expected, Draco had been responsible for the pair's trip down Knockturn Alley, but Severus was still disappointed that Harry had followed him. He made a mental note to improve house relations once they were back at Hogwarts; he could not have house rivalry leading to his students making poor decisions simply because they felt that they had something to prove in front of those from other houses.

'And whose idea was it to scam the street performer?' he asked, once Harry had described how they had come to leave Diagon Alley.

The boy's eyes widened. 'Not mine! I didn't even know you had to pay, sir, honestly,' he said earnestly. Frowning a little, he added in a small voice, 'I think it's a bit harsh to call it a scam.'

Severus raised an eyebrow, relieved at the child's innocence but displeased by his attitude.

'_Pardon?_' he said, in a voice that indicated that he had very much heard what Harry had said.

The boy flushed red. 'Sorry, sir. It's just that we didn't mean to trick him or anything – we just wanted to watch his show. There were loads of other people watching that did pay, too, so it's not like he got no money.'

'Performers like that gentlemen rely on _every _knut they receive' Severus explained. He tried not to make his tone too harsh; it was clear that this folly was a product of the child's naivety, not ill will. 'Their shows are their livelihoods, and cheating them out of a few coins could be the difference between them having a hot meal for tea or not.'

'Oh,' Harry said, his eyes downcast. 'I didn't think of that.'

'Evidently not.'

'I promise that I didn't know you had to pay, though. I would've, otherwise.'

'I believe you - I am not going to punish you for that,' Severus said before hardening his tone. 'For your disobedience, however, there must be consequences.'

'I know,' Harry said, nodding glumly. 'I had to do it, though, or Malfoy would've thought I was a coward.'

'You absolutely did _not _have to do it,' Severus admonished. He _really _did need to improve house relations. 'Foolish rivalry is no excuse for putting yourself in needless danger. Should you have encountered some of the more unsavoury types that reside in Knockturn Alley and required help, I would have had _no idea_ where you were. You could have been kidnapped, Harry, or worse! That risk would have been avoided completely if you had simply refused to leave Diagon Alley.'

Harry looked up at him, wide-eyed, and Severus realised his words had carried a level of emotion that they did not usually bear.

'I am terribly disappointed in your behaviour,' Severus continued. He paused, gritting his teeth, then carried on. 'Not only that, Harry, but it worries me. I care about you and your safety, and to see you put it at risk so frivolously is… distressing.'

The boy bit his lip and looked down again, fiddling with his thumbs.

'Come here,' Severus instructed. To his credit, Harry pushed himself off up his chair and stepped around the desk with no protest. Once he was stood in front of him, Severus reached out and pulled him to his side. 'You are a principled boy, Harry, and you have shown on more than one occasion that you can stand up for what you believe in. You must not let petty competition with schoolmates stand in the way of you upholding those principles and doing what is right. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Do you understand why you are being punished?'

Harry's gaze fell away from his own, but the boy nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

'Very well, let us begin. Remember that you have a clean slate afterwards'

Not wishing to prolong it any longer than necessary, Severus pulled the boy gently by his arm and deposited him firmly over his lap. The first smack was always the hardest to deliver, but once he finally let his hand fall, he quickly got into a rhythm.

Severus was not one to lecture during a spanking; he felt it rather unnecessary to subject the child to an interrogation on top of it all. It also meant that the ordeal was over sooner, which he valued just as much as the person on the receiving end. Whatever his reputation as 'Cruel Bat of the Dungeons' had to say about him, Severus Snape did not enjoy inflicting pain.

Before two minutes had passed, the boy began to quietly sob into his robes. Severus stopped landing smacks and gathered the child up in his arms, gladly noting that Harry had stopped fighting to conceal his emotions as he had once done. They remained in comfortable silence for a while, Harry quietly gathering himself. Eventually the boy disentangled himself from the hug and stood up.

'I'm sorry, sir,' he said sheepishly, although looking far less miserable than before.

'None of that,' Severus said, waving away his apology. 'You know that we are done with this matter, unless you decide that you wish to repeat it again.'

'Erm, I don't think so. It's quite far down my bucket list,' Harry replied, grinning at him.

'Yes, that is probably in your benefit,' Severus agreed, marvelling at how quickly the boy had bounced back to his usual self. 'Now, I have work to do, so _shoo_. Make yourself busy – the potatoes in the garden need weeding, or if you want to stay indoors, your transfiguration summer work looked suspiciously unfinished the last time I saw it.'

'Oh, I better get on with that,' Harry said, scrunching his nose up in dismay. 'Professor McGonagall set us a three-foot essay on turning beetles into buttons.'

'How absolutely appalling.'

'I _know!' _Harry exclaimed, ignoring the sarcasm and hopping towards the door. He paused in the doorway, turning back to Severus with a cautious expression on his face. 'Professor?'

'Yes, Harry?'

'Can- can I still read tonight? With you?'

'Of course. You are no longer being punished; you know that.'

The boy's anxious expression was quickly replaced by another easy grin, and he skipped out of the door. Severus watched it swing shut, pondering just how much his life had changed in the last month.

* * *

Severus sat back from his desk with a sigh. He had just finished entering his sixth-year class list into his personal notes; how some of them had scraped an Outstanding in their O. he did not know, but he certainly had his work cut out for him this year. Rubbing a weary hand over his face, he closed his notes just as a knock sounded at the door.

'Enter.'

At his command, the door swung open and Harry poked his head into the office, clad in pyjamas and a fleece.

'Are you nearly done? It's nine o'clock.'

Severus looked down at his watch and raised his eyebrows. 'So it is. Yes, I am finished for the day.'

The boy beamed at him. 'Good. I made teas!'

Surprised, Severus followed the child out of his office. Sure enough, there were two steaming mugs set upon the coffee table.

'Thank you,' he said, pulling an old tome from the shelf and sitting in the armchair.

Harry grinned, grabbing his own book from the case and vaulting over the back of the sofa onto the cushions. Severus winced as the springs creaked in complaint.

'Please try and refrain from assaulting the settee.'

'Sorry!' came the rather unapologetic reply. Severus watched as the child settled into the corner of the sofa, pulling one of the heavy throws over him. As Harry flipped open the book, he caught a glimpse of the title. It brought a sense of fond nostalgia; _The Hobbit _had been a favourite of his own when he was a child.

He opened his own book and began reading, but his eyes kept being drawn from the heavy Potions material on his lap to where Harry was sitting on the sofa; the boy was staring over the top of his novel with a distracted glaze to his gaze, fidgeting with the corner of the page. He was evidently stressed about something.

Sighing, he closed his book. 'What is it?'

The boy looked up at him, startled.

'Harry, you are thinking so painfully hard that I can all but hear you thoughts. What has got you so worked up?'

'It's just, well…' Harry paused, looking uncertainly at Severus. 'Malfoy's dad, he's not very… nice to him, is he? Like how your dad wasn't very nice to you, or Uncle Vernon to me.'

Severus sighed. It was a perceptive observation; people in general tended to have a remarkable talent for overlooking signs of abuse. He supposed that Harry was far from the average person, and having experience on the receiving end of abuse definitely inclined one to have a lower threshold for noticing it in others.

'You could say that,' Severus said, considering how to answer the boy's question. It was a delicate matter, and one very private to Draco. 'Lucius is a pureblood patriarch, and a very old-fashioned one at that. He upholds traditional views, including those about children – that they should be seen and not heard, and treat their elders with absolute respect. He also retains some archaic ideas about how severely one should punish said children when they do not meet those ideals.'

Harry nodded his understanding, his eyes widening slightly. 'Will he be okay? After what happened today?'

'Lucius may present a harsh façade, but underneath it I do believe that he does love his son,' Severus said. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, trying to keep his own concerns from showing. 'I am sure Draco will come to no serious harm.'

'If you're sure,' Harry said, blatantly unconvinced. Nonetheless, he settled back into the sofa, a small frown resting on his forehead.

'I am surprised that you are so concerned about Draco's welfare. If I remember correctly, the first time you were acquainted with my office was after you took a swing at him.'

Harry's frown deepened. 'This is different. Malfoy looked… properly scared of his dad, not like I've ever seen him before. Just because he's a git doesn't mean he deserves to be hurt.'

'I did not mean to say that your concern is not admirable, Harry,' Severus said, raising his hands placatingly. 'Empathy is rarely a misdirected quality. You must not worry yourself over matters outside your control, however. I promise that I do as much as I can to ensure Draco's safety.'

Seemingly satisfied, Harry muttered an 'M'kay' and buried himself in _The Hobbit _once more, this time fully engaged in the story. Severus watched him for a moment longer, deep in his own thoughts, and then turned back to his own book, quickly losing himself in the words.

It was a while before he was pulled out of his reading again, this time by the flapping of wings at the window. He looked up to see the great tawny owl pecking at the glass, affronted by the closed window.

'Sorry, dear girl,' he said gently, unclasping the window and scratching her neck. She leaned into his touch affectionately. 'What do you have for me?'

As he unfurled the parchment tied to her leg, he quickly recognised Albus Dumbledore's elegant script.

_Severus,_

_We both knew that this was a risk, but I am terribly sorry that it has come to be true. The steps you have taken seem sufficient, and I will keep an eye out at the Ministry. All we can do is remain vigilant._

_In the meantime, I am in no doubt that there is no better place for Harry than in your hands._

_Albus_

Severus tapped the parchment with his wand, watching pensively as the message crumbled away between his fingers. More often that not, he still felt absolutely at a loss when it came to the guardianship of Harry Potter, but at least Albus seemed to have faith in his ability to look after the child.

He turned to where his charge was wrapped in a blanket on the settee, raising an eyebrow to see that he had fallen asleep, his book hanging loosely from his hand. Pushing aside the worried thoughts that had begun to crowd his mind, he focused on the task at hand. He gently eased the book out of Harry's hand and, ignoring the twelve-year-old's sleepy protest at being carried, lifted the boy in his arms and began towards the stairs.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you for sticking with this fic :) It's getting simultaneously harder and more fun to write these characters as we get further away from their canon relationship, but I hope it retains some semblance of realism and therefore readability!**

**I also hope that you and your families are staying safe during our current events. It was really interesting to hear about how you guys are managing coronavirus in your individual countries in last chapter's reviews – here in the UK, we've been in effective lockdown for almost two weeks and our PM is quite severely ill in hospital, but the country in general is managing relatively well.**

**If you have time to leave a review (every one of which I appreciate **_**so **_**much), maybe at the end leave a little sentence about how you and your country are managing coronavirus, if you feel comfortable! It definitely helps feel more together when we can remember that this is something faced by much of the whole world.**

**Thank you so much for reading, I hope you have a good day and stay safe.**


	12. Parting Gifts

**Hello! I hope you're all safe and well. Here's the next chapter – I'm so sorry it took so long to get out, but I really do hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

_Chapter 12 – Parting Gifts_

'Are you quite certain that you have packed everything?'

'Yep. I double checked.'

'All of your textbooks?'

'_All _of them.'

'And how about your jumpers? It may be summer weather now, but before long-'

'Snape, I've packed a bloody bag before!' Harry interrupted, exasperated. He regretted his words immediately, eyes widening at the irate glare that he found himself under. Before Snape could open his mouth to scold him, he added, 'But I was just going upstairs to triple check anyway!'

'How fortunate. You had best pack away that attitude, too, before you come back down,' Snape called after him as he darted out of the kitchen. 'Ida is coming for tea.'

Buoyed by the news, Harry took the ladder to his bedroom two rungs at a time and began rifling through his drawers, checking that they were all empty. Sure enough, the only thing that had escaped his packing was a lone sock, which he threw into the top of his trunk.

Flopping back onto his bed, he allowed himself a moment of rest. Snape was probably right; he did need to keep his attitude in check. Frantically running around the house in an effort to gather his scattered belongings had been considerably stressful, but he didn't want to let that stress cause unnecessary arguments with the Potions Master. It was his last evening at Spinner's End, after all.

At the sound of voices echoing up the stairwell beneath him, Harry jumped up and hopped back down to the landing, the trapdoor swinging shut behind him. He could see Ida's floral anorak hanging by the doorway, but from the murmur of voices it was evident that the pair had moved back into the kitchen. He began to descend the stairs to join them but froze at what he could have _sworn _was the mention of his own name.

Peering over the banister, Harry caught a glimpse of Ida standing with her back to the doorway, Goliath winding happily around her heels. From his vantage point, he could just about make out the words being said.

'-it's nothing, really,' Ida was saying.

'You shouldn't have, Ida.'

'Well I did, an' I won't hear a word of complaint about it. Here, have a look.'

There was a soft click followed by a long silence. Eventually, Snape said quietly, 'That… that was Pat's. Are you sure?'

'I'm sure, love. Your lad's obviously like a son to you-'

'_Ida_-'

'Don't you Ida me, young man. It's clear as day. An' if he's like a son to you, an' you're like a son to me, then that makes him family. Paddy loved this, but he's got no need fer it anymore – it's jus' collecting dust on me shelf.'

'Ida, I…' Snape began, his voice more full of complex emotion than Harry had ever heard it before. 'I don't know what to say.'

'Then don't say anything, lad. I've known you long enough to not need words to understand what you mean.'

Bewildered by Snape's reaction, Harry craned his head further to try and get a better look at what Ida was holding. His stomach dropped as the banister creaked violently beneath him.

'Harry Potter, you had best hope for your own health that you are not eavesdropping. Get in here.'

Harry gulped, jumping down the last few stairs. Snape's voice had lost all of the tenderness that it had held before with impressive speed.

'Well?' Snape questioned once he had entered the kitchen. 'I know for a fact that the banister only complains in that manner if one is resting their full body weight upon it to try and observe the kitchen.'

Choosing not to comment on the fact that that was an exceedingly peculiar fact to know, Harry smiled innocently at the man. 'I was just stretching, sir.'

'You were _stretching_?' Snape repeated.

'Yep. I got this awful cramp in my leg when I was coming down the stairs,' Harry replied sincerely. Eager to change the subject, he turned to Ida and smiled. 'Hi, Ida. How are you?'

'All the better fer seeing you, dear,' the old lady said, pulling him into a warm hug with a conspiratorial wink. Harry settled into the embrace gladly; Ida was definitely one of the things that he was going to miss most about living at Spinner's End.

'Here, before I forget,' she said once she had released Harry. She picked something up from the table behind him and pressed it into his hands. 'Toby says yer off to school tomorrow, so I thought I'd bring you something to say goodbye fer now.'

Surprised, Harry looked down at what he was holding. It was a flat, square box, about the size of his palm.

'Open it, love,' Ida encouraged. 'The box isn't the present - I've not gone that doolally yet.'

Gently unclasping the box, Harry flipped it open with a click. Lying inside was a tiny golden four-leaf clover, no bigger than a penny yet delicately detailed, set upon a fine gold chain. He looked up at Ida in awe. 'Is this really for me?'

'Aye, it is, duck,' she answered, smiling warmly. 'It's a family heirloom of mine. Me son used to wear it 'round his neck – kept him lucky, he said. I never had no grandson, but you've come 'bout as close as it gets to one in the last month. I know that my Patrick would be most happy to hear that it's in yer hands.'

Harry stared at her, at a loss for words. 'I can't accept this, Ida. It's too special to you.'

'Oh, you most definitely can, lad,' Ida said, carefully lifting the necklace from the box. Her old hands shook a little but moved with purpose, and soon she had clasped the chain behind Harry's neck. 'There, look – a perfect fit. It's like it's meant to be.'

Ida wasn't wrong; the clover settled perfectly in between his collar bones. Harry beamed at the woman. 'Thank you, really. It means a lot.'

'Yer more than welcome, love,' she said, returning his smile before turning back to Snape. 'Now, Tobes, what's this I heard about a roast chicken?'

Goliath took the mention of food as a cue to start yapping at their feet. Harry laughed and knelt down, rubbing the small dog under his chin.

'Calm down, boy, it's not for you,' he said fondly.

'You listen to the lad,' Ida agreed, wagging her finger at the chihuahua, 'you've already had yer dinner, an' you need to watch that waistline!'

Harry grinned, giving the dog's pudgy tummy one final rub before standing up.

'Do you need any help with the food?' he asked Snape.

'No, it's just about ready,' the man replied, and sure enough, they soon had a splendid roast dinner laid out on the table. The food was good, and, with Goliath's help, they made quick work of it. Before long, they were sat in the living room with steaming bowls of crumble and custard whilst Ida regaled Harry with stories about a young Snape, much to the subject's chagrin.

'I thoroughly refute the use of that adjective,' the professor cut in at one point, a small frown on his forehead.

'Well, I refute yer refuting, lad,' Ida replied, a playful glint in her eye. 'It might've been in yer own quiet way, but you were most definitely a _cheeky _boy.'

Snape said nothing, the tips of his ears turning a definite shade of pink.

'How so, Ida?' Harry asked, ignoring the death glare he received from his guardian.

'Oh, him and Paddy got up to some right mischief when they were little ones,' Ida answered, smiling reverently. 'If I remember correctly, one time – Toby must've been no more than four - they broke into Gerard's tool shed an' painted the whole thing pink!'

Harry laughed at the image. 'Why pink?'

'Why, that were Toby's favourite colour, of course! He used to love it – I think I've got a photo back home of him all dressed up in one of me pink-'

'That crumble was delicious, Ida,' Snape interrupted loudly, placing his bowl down on the coffee table. 'I am sure that we could talk the night away, but Harry and I must begin to tidy up if we are to leave on time.'

'I get the hint, love,' Ida said, winking at Harry. 'I'll make meself scarce. Besides, Goliath needs a walk before bedtime, or his indigestion will play up.'

They walked her to the door and said their goodbyes, which involved a lot of crushing hugs from Ida and slobbery kisses from Goliath, and then she was gone. As the door swung shut behind the jovial old lady, a strange feeling tugged at Harry's gut. He frowned and bit his lip, trying to push the unsettling sensation to the back of his mind, where it had been gnawing away at him all day. His change in mood did not go unnoticed by Snape.

'Come now, you will see Ida again before long. It is hardly something to cry about,' the professor chided, his tone far from sharp.

Harry opened his mouth to retort that he was not crying, but closed it again, blushing, as he realised to his horror that tears were indeed threatening to spill.

'It's- it's not that,' he said quietly. 'I'm… not sure what it is, really.'

Snape raised a discerning eyebrow at him. Harry shifted uncomfortably under the penetrating gaze; sometimes it felt as if the man could see right into his soul.

'Very well,' Snape said, after a long silence. 'Go and get into your nightclothes. I will do the washing up and then join you in the living room.'

'What- but- I can't turn up to the Weasleys' in my _pyjamas_,' Harry protested. Although dismayed that he could not travel to Hogwarts with Snape, Harry had been excited when the professor had told him that he would be spending the night at Ron's house before boarding the train the following day. The thought of arriving at The Burrow for the first time dressed in his chequered pyjamas, however, was an embarrassing one.

'You can and you will,' Snape replied. 'You will be going straight to bed when you get there, and I am certain that the Weasley family will not be offended by your attire. If it really concerns you, you may borrow one of my jumpers to wear whilst we travel.'

'Fine,' Harry acquiesced, frowning. Relief flashed briefly in Snape's eyes; neither of them really wanted an argument tonight. Tentatively, he continued, 'Are we… is there still going to be time for us to read before we leave?'

'That depends on how quickly you decide to get dressed,' Snape answered, looking pointedly at the staircase. As Harry mounted it, taking the steps two at a time, the man called after him, 'Perhaps try and find a way to articulate what is troubling you so much whilst you get changed.'

Harry bounced into the living room no more than five minutes later, dressed in his pyjamas. He snagged a navy fleece from the neat pile of laundry by the ironing board and was pulling it over his head as Snape entered the room, a mug of tea in each hand.

'Well?' the man inquired, setting the mugs down on the coffee table. Harry noticed that he forewent his usual armchair, taking a seat on the sofa. 'Have you drawn a conclusion about what brought you so close to tears?'

Harry pouted slightly at the reminder, but nodded, dropping down in his spot at the other end of the settee.

'I'm really excited about going back to Hogwarts, and I'm happy that I'm going to see my friends again-'

'Mm, I too would be upset if I were faced with a whole term surrounded by little Gryffindors,' Snape mused, nodding in mock sympathy.

'You _know _I'm not finished,' Harry grumbled, internally relieved that the man was keeping the mood light. 'I'm excited about going back, but… I- I'm really going to miss… this.'

Snape nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. After a long silence, the professor lightly cleared his throat and said, 'As am I.'

'Really?' Harry's eyebrows shot up. Part of why he had refrained from putting his feelings into words sooner was because he felt so foolish for feeling them; he had assumed that surely Snape would be glad to be rid of him, to finally have Harry out from under his feet.

Snape nodded again. 'I am just as surprised as you are, but it would seem that I have become accustomed to- well, no, _enjoyed _your company. I shall be sorry to see you less often.'

'Oh,' Harry said softly, a warm feeling filling his chest. Frowning slightly, he searched for the courage to ask the question that had been playing on his mind since before he started packing. 'How- how _different_ are things going to be once we're back at Hogwarts?'

'You know that we must keep my guardianship of you a secret, so inevitably we must keep up a pretence in public,' Snape replied. 'I will have to treat you much the same as I did last year.'

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape stopped him with a raised finger.

'It is for your own safety, Harry,' the man continued, his words firm but gentle. 'Besides, you are welcome in my chambers whenever you want, and when we are alone there will be no need to pretend - it will be no different to being here. And I shall endeavour to be slightly less 'cruel and horrible' than last year when we are in public.'

Harry grinned at the use of his own words from so many months ago. 'Alright,' he said, settling back into the sofa. Feeling a lot calmer, he opened his book and lost himself in the story.

All too soon, Snape flipped shut his own book and declared that it was time to go. Harry stuck out his bottom lip and tried his best pleading eyes, but at the reminder that they did not want to keep the Weasleys waiting, he reluctantly pushed himself up from the sofa.

'Ah, I almost forgot,' Snape said as Harry slotted his book back into the shelf. 'Here – you have something else to pack.'

Frowning, Harry spun around from the bookshelf. 'That's impossible! I _triple _checked, and-' he stopped at the sight of a package in the man's hands, carefully wrapped in brown paper with a dark green ribbon. 'Oh. What's that?'

'Have a look for yourself.'

Harry accepted the parcel, slipping off the ribbon and unfolding the paper. Inside was a heavy book, bound in black leather. He flicked to a random page and saw that it was a Potions compendium, but unlike any he had ever seen before; the instructions for each potion filled only the central portion of each page, with two blank columns down either side. Curious, he flipped through a few more pages, catching sight of an inscription on the inside cover – _Property of H.J. Potter_

Surprised, he looked up at Snape. 'It's mine?'

The professor nodded. 'The blank space on each page is for additional notes and alterations. With your penchant for experimentation, I thought you may find good use for it. You are welcome to put it to use in my personal laboratory at Hogwarts, if you so desire.'

Harry looked down at the book and back up at his guardian, lost for words. At his silence, Snape continued, 'I know that it is not the most exciting gift. I do not expect you to-'

Harry placed the book on the coffee table and flung himself at the man, cutting him off. Snape tensed slightly but soon returned the hug, placing one hand on the back of Harry's head and holding him tight with the other.

'Thank you,' Harry mumbled into his chest.

'It's nothing, really.'

Harry pulled back slightly and looked up at the man, shaking his head. 'No, I mean, thank you for everything.'

Snape did not reply, but for once, his gaze was perfectly readable. It radiated slight surprise, a hint of gratitude, and, above all else, an incredible warmth; one that Harry would have doubted could have existed at all in the professor a few months ago, let alone be directed at him. Grinning, he leant back into the hug.

They remained in the embrace for a while longer, the action speaking words that neither of them could articulate. Eventually, Snape patted Harry's shoulder and quietly said, 'Alright, then. We should be off.'

His trunk and Hedwig's cage were already stacked neatly by the door when they entered the hallway. Hedwig hooted reproachfully from her perch at the sight of them, and Harry threaded his fingers through the bars to give her neck a sympathetic scratch. 'Sorry, girl. You'll have all of Hogwarts to fly around soon.'

He took his rucksack from where it hung on the hook and carefully slipped the Potions compendium into it, slinging it over his shoulder.

'Ready?' Snape asked. At Harry's nod, he picked up the trunk in one hand and held out Hedwig's cage in the other. 'Take this. Do not let go if you want to see her at the other end.'

Widening his eyes, Harry gripped the handle of the cage tightly. 'Can't we use the Floo instead?' he asked, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant memory of their last apparition. 'I don't think apparating agrees with my body.'

'You will find it less unpleasant now that you know what to expect, I am sure,' Snape replied, an amused glint in his eye. 'Besides, it is considered rude to Floo directly into someone's home if you are not good friends with the owner.'

'And you're not good friends with Ron's parents?'

Snape raised a wry eyebrow. 'I would not call us bosom buddies, no.' He placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. 'Take a deep breath. We shall apparate on the count of three. One, two-'

'Wait!' Harry turned to the professor, panicked. At the questioning look he received, he stuttered, 'I just- I- I wasn't ready to go.'

Blushing, he looked away from the man, his gaze lingering instead on the kitchen that he had spent so much time in over the last month. His raincoat no longer hung on its hook by the door, and his schoolbooks were not strewn across the table, but the mug that he always had tea in still sat next to the kettle, and there were faint muddy scuffs on the back step where he had kicked off his trainers countless times.

'It's still going to be there when you come back, Harry,' Snape said. 'The house will not collapse in your absence.'

Harry turned back to him, surprised. 'I'm coming back? Definitely?'

Snape nodded. 'Should you choose to remain at Hogwarts for the holidays, that is perfectly fine, but you will have a home here for as long as you want and need one.'

A _home_. Harry had never really had one of those before, not outside of Hogwarts; Privet Drive had been little more than four walls and a roof over his head, and he had been too young to remember the house that he had shared with his parents. He couldn't help but grin at the concept. 'Thanks, sir,' he said quietly.

Snape allowed a rare smile in return, squeezing Harry's shoulder. 'Shall we try apparating again?'

Harry nodded.

'Very well. Are you sure that you are ready?'

'I'm sure,' he said, tightening his grip on Hedwig's cage and taking one last look around the hallway.

'On the count of three: one, two, _three,'_

* * *

Severus looked up at the teetering conglomerate of woefully incongruent architecture in amusement. Trust the Weasleys to inhabit such a rickety yet oddly impressive abode.

'It's _amazing_,' breathed the boy next to him.

'That's one word for it,' Severus agreed. It was certainly amazing that the building was still standing. He stepped forward to knock on the door, asking, 'How do you feel?'

'Fine, actually,' Harry answered. 'You were right – it wasn't as bad as last time.'

'Good,' Severus said, slightly relieved. Molly Weasley was a famously fierce matriarch, and he knew that he would be under her scrutiny for his care of the boy. It would not do to present a queasy-looking child to her, even if it was only apparition sickness.

The door swung open in front of them, revealing Arthur Weasley in a patchwork dressing gown. 'Severus,' he acknowledged politely.

'Arthur,' Severus returned, shaking the man's proffered hand. 'How is the family?'

Before Arthur could open his mouth to answer, his wife appeared at his side, directing a very stern look at Severus.

'I'll tell you now, Severus Snape,' she said, wagging a finger at him, 'if you haven't been looking after that poor boy to the _very best _of your ability…'

She tailed off as she caught sight of Harry behind him. 'Harry, dear,' she said warmly, 'come here, let me have a look at you.'

'Hi, Mrs Weasley,' Harry said, stepping into the warm light of the doorway. Molly looked him up and down, and, apparently satisfied that he was in one piece, pulled him into a tight hug. When the Weasley matriarch caught Severus' eye again over Harry's shoulder, the sternness had vanished from her face, and she was instead regarding him with a motherly tenderness. Silently, she mouthed, 'Thank you.'

In another time, the gesture would have rankled Severus. He would have taken the gratitude at Potter's health as an implication that the task of caring for the boy was beyond Severus; that he must have extended himself to achieve it. That was in another time, however. He was certain now that Molly's words were genuine.

A blind man could have seen that Harry had thrived under Severus' care. The boy standing between them was far from the scrawny child that had disembarked the Hogwarts express at the beginning of summer – he now filled out his clothes properly, had definitely gained a few inches in height, and he carried himself with a new confidence that was notable even in the fading light. He was simply _well_, and Severus knew that Molly saw that; her words were an utterance of approval - an invitation into the common ground that those who cared about the same person shared.

Severus nodded his acknowledgement, allowing his features to soften a little. Molly smiled back at him and gave the boy in her arms one final squeeze before releasing him and standing back.

'Would you like to stay for tea, Severus?' she offered affably. 'I was just about to put the kettle on.'

'Thank you, but I must refuse. I have business to attend to at the school.' In truth, his only business at Hogwarts was a glass of 1976 single malt Scotch in front of a roaring fire, but it had been his tradition since he began teaching and it was not one that he was about to forgo for a cup of tea. 'Besides, I have already occupied too much of your evening as is.'

'Oh, nonsense. You're welcome here, Severus,' Molly said, with a firm sincerity in her eyes. She turned to the boy next to her. 'Are you ready for bed, dear?'

Harry nodded. 'I'm in my pyjamas and stuff, yeah… but, erm, can I…' he glanced meaningfully between Severus and Molly, the latter of whom gave him a knowing smile.

'Go on, love, you take all the time you want,' she said, gently propelling the boy towards Severus. 'Arthur and I will be in the kitchen – just give us a shout when you're ready for me to show you upstairs.'

'Thanks, Mrs Weasley,' Harry said, returning the woman's smile. His gaze lingered on her as the couple retreated from the room, then he turned back to Severus, his eyes displaying an uncertainty that matched Severus' own. The child opened his mouth slightly as if he were going to speak, but closed it swiftly, biting his lip.

Equally unsure, Severus resorted to what he knew best: the rules. 'I expect you to be on your best behaviour for the Weasleys,' he said. 'That means no cheek, no whining, and make sure to say thank you before they leave King's Cross.'

'I _will_,' Harry replied indignantly. 'I'm not a child, you know.'

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'I think the dictionary may disagree with your definition of child, Harry. And you must keep in mind that the Weasley family are doing us quite a favour by taking you to Hogwarts – they already have their hands rather full with children. '

'I know,' the boy said quietly, looking intently at the floor where he was toeing the edge of the frayed doormat with his shoe. 'It's not too late for me to travel to Hogwarts with you tonight.'

When he met Severus' gaze again, the child's eyes were full of an almost desperate hope.

'Harry…' Severus struggled to ignore the pang of guilt in his stomach, cursing the boy's unnatural ability to resemble a sad puppy. 'You know that is not an option. Suspicion will be aroused if you are not onboard the Hogwarts Express, and suspicion is dangerous.'

Harry nodded glumly, his shoulders deflating slightly. 'I s'pose.'

'Besides, this is not a real goodbye. I will see you tomorrow evening in the Great Hall.'

His words were met by an angry glare. 'Yeah, but things will be _different. _It won't be, you know… _happy_… like summer's been.'

_Ah_. A sense of understanding settled on Severus. He was well acquainted with the desperate need to cling onto what felt like transient happiness that the boy was exhibiting, and he was uncomfortably certain that Harry's too had arisen from a childhood all too parched of joy.

'Moving forwards does not make null the past, Harry. Nothing that happens from this point onwards will change what occurred this summer,' he said gently, hoping that his words were enough to reassure the child that the security he had felt over the holidays was far from transient. 'As much as it rankles me to admit it, I care about you, boy, and I will do whatever I can to ensure that you are… well, as you put it, _happy.'_

Severus stopped, furrowing his brow slightly at his uncharacteristic display of emotion. He had not intended to speak the final sentence aloud, but it was true nonetheless, and it was apparently what Harry needed to hear.

'Okay,' the boy said quietly, the obvious tension dissolving from his posture.

Relieved, Severus continued in a lighter tone, 'Besides, I am sure you will derive enough joy from whatever mischief you contrive with Miss Granger and Mr Weasley as soon as you are back at Hogwarts.'

Harry grinned at the mention of his friends. 'Mischief?' he repeated, eyes widening innocently. 'No idea what you mean, sir.'

Severus chuckled. 'Well, at least try and stay out of trouble for one night. Remember, the Weasleys-'

'Are doing us a big favour and that I am to be on my best behaviour. You already said,' Harry finished. At Severus' raised eyebrow he added, 'I'm not being cheeky, sir – just showing that I'm listening. I won't cause the Weasleys any trouble.'

'I should hope so,' Severus said firmly. Softening his features, he leant forwards and gave the child's shoulder a squeeze. 'Goodbye, Harry. Sleep well.'

'Bye, Snape,' the boy replied, beaming at him. 'See you tomorrow.'

Severus cast a final appraising look over the boy and nodded, before turning and striding out of the front door. The summer had brought about such a marked change in him, he mused, that even the impertinent use of his surname was almost endearing.

As the cool night air hit his face, Severus took a moment to steel himself for the coming term, shaking off stray sentimental thoughts and unnecessary emotion. With one last glance at The Burrow, Professor Snape vanished into thin air.

* * *

Harry watched the door swing shut behind Snape, pensive. He did not have long to contemplate the man's parting words, however, before a familiar voice rang out across the room.

'What the _bloody hell _was that?' came the exclamation from behind him. Harry spun around to see his best friend, wide-eyed and pyjama-clad, standing at the foot of the stairs. He had no idea how long Ron had been there, but judging by the way that the redhead was gaping at him, it had been long enough to witness a fair bit of his exchange with Snape.

'Erm, hi, Ron,' he said, trying and failing to find the words for an explanation. Harry had known that he would have to broach the topic of his new guardian with his friends at some point, but he'd been banking on at least one more night to mull over exactly how he was going to phrase it.

Fortunately, Mrs Weasley chose that moment to re-enter the living room. She opened her mouth as if to address Harry, but quickly noticed the other occupant of the room, and instead swooped down upon her youngest son with the fury that only an angry mother can summon.

'_Ronald Weasley! _You are _supposed _to be in bed!'

Ron's eyes grew even wider and he backed up the stairs. 'I was, I swear! I just- there were voices, and I was thirsty- I thought-'

'Well you thought wrong, young man! Your father and I _expressly _told you when to go to bed – we thought, for once, Harry here deserved a little peace-'

'Honestly, Mrs Weasley, its fine-' Harry tried to interject on Ron's behalf, but he was quickly waved down by the fearsome matriarch.

'And besides,' she continued, hands on her hips, 'you know thatwe have an early start tomorrow, Ronald. This is not the night to be stomping up and down the stairs and waking your siblings!'

'I did go to bed! And I _wasn't _stomping-Ouch, _Mum!_'

Harry winced in sympathy as Mrs Weasley landed a none-too-gentle smack on Ron's behind.

'You watch your tone with me, young man. You're lucky that Harry's here, or else-'

'I'm sorry,' Ron mumbled quickly, flushing beet red.

'Hm,' Mrs Weasley intoned sceptically. 'To bed with you, mister. Sharpish – if you're not tucked in by the time I get up there…'

'I'm going, I'm going!' Ron said, shooting Harry an apologetic look and darting up the stairs.

'Sorry about that, dear,' Mrs Weasley said, turning to Harry. 'Ready for bed?'

Harry nodded, slightly taken aback by the sudden return of her normal geniality.

'Perfect. Arthur's already taken your trunk upstairs, so I'll just show you where the loo is and then we can get you settled. This way, love.'

He followed Mrs Weasley up the stairs, trying his best to focus as she described the plan of action for the following day. It was hard not to be distracted – he had never been inside a wizarding family's house before, and The Burrow practically exuded magic from its very walls. There was not a corner without some curious housework charm in action, and the walls were cluttered with moving family photos and enchanted Quidditch memorabilia. It was beyond what Harry could have imagined, but it suited the Weasleys eminently, and he could not help but feel at ease there.

Once they reached the top of the winding staircase, Mrs Weasley placed a finger on her lips and quietly pushed open the first door. Inside was a small attic room with two single beds, one of which was already occupied by a balled-up duvet and a mop of red hair. The walls were plastered with intensely orange Chudley Cannons posters, and the room teetered on the fine line between messy and tidy in a way that was very Ron.

'There you are, dear,' Mrs Weasley said softly. 'We're up bright and early, so do try and get some rest. Go on, into bed.'

Harry climbed into the empty bed and pulled the covers up, smiling at the woman. 'Thanks, Mrs Weasley. Night.'

'Goodnight, love. Sleep tight.'

With that, she stepped out of the room, drawing the door shut behind her with a soft click. Harry sank back into the soft pillows, waiting for the inevitable. Sure enough, no more than two minutes later, there was a rustling noise from the bed next to him.

'Harry?' Ron whispered loudly. 'Harry, are you awake?'

'Yeah,' Harry replied, scooting up the bed so that he was propped against the headboard. 'I s'pose I've got some explaining to do.'

'Just a little, mate.'

Taking a deep breath, Harry outlined the events of the past month as best he could. To his relief, Ron didn't interrupt him once, simply listening. Once he was finished, the redhead let out a low whistle.

'Sounds like you've had quite a summer, Harry,' he said. 'I'm sorry for being a git earlier, you know. I just didn't expect to come downstairs and see you holding hands with Snape.'

'We were _not _holding hands,' Harry grinned, tossing a cushion at Ron's head.

Ron caught the cushion, laughing. 'Yeah, well, close enough. Seriously, though, mate,' he continued, his tone more sober, 'I'm sorry that you lost your aunt and uncle, but I know they weren't the nicest. Even if it's hard to believe, it sounds like Snape's really got your back, and I'm happy for you. You, erm… you deserve that.'

Harry gaped at his usually emotionally illiterate friend, a sense of immense gratitude filling his chest. 'Thanks, Ron,' he said quietly.

'It's just the truth,' Ron replied sincerely. 'While we're at it, have you got any other secret guardians to tell me about? You don't sleep at McGonagall's on weekends, do you?'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Harry said, 'that would clash with my Sunday morning manicures with Filch.'

Ron snorted and flopped back on his sheets. 'Yeah, 'course.'

They lay in comfortable silence for a while. Just as Harry was beginning to suspect that Ron had fallen asleep, the other boy spoke up again.

'It's really good to see you, Harry.'

Harry smiled in the dim light. 'Yeah, you too, mate.'

'Night.'

'Night, Ron.'

As Harry drifted off to sleep, his last thoughts were ones of absolute contentment. Whatever Dobby had promised was waiting for him at Hogwarts, there was no doubt in his mind that he would not be facing it alone.

* * *

**And that's the end of summer – on to Hogwarts! Thank you so much for reading – I really hope that you enjoyed it. If you have time, I'd love to hear from you in a review (critique included), but even if not, have a good day :)**

**I am genuinely ever so sorry that I took so long to update this chapter, especially as with everything going on write now, I know that regular fic updates are particularly valued. It was a combination of being slightly overwhelmed by work/life, general fatigue, and just writing at a snail's pace – I wrote the chapter in chunks over more than a month, which is very unlike me! I apologise, and I will try and do better in the future.**

**I know that the bottom of a fanfic is not the best place to mention this, but also do please get involved in BLM. In whatever way you can – donate, sign petitions, protest, educate yourself – I think (perhaps controversially) that even silent support is still a form of support, so please, do your bit :)**

**[Also, American/English difference side-note: when Snape says 'I will do the washing up', he's not saying that he's going to clean his hands/face in a syntactically strange way – in the UK, 'to do the washing up' means to wash the dishes]**


End file.
